


To Fall in Winter

by Rayac



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Halloween, Holidays, Samhain, Thanksgiving, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:14:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26980471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rayac/pseuds/Rayac
Summary: A story of three holidays posted in response to the LFFL Fall/Winter Writing Challenge.The first time, she almost didn't see him. The second time, she saw too much. The third time, she thought she would never see enough.
Relationships: Jareth/Sarah Williams
Comments: 50
Kudos: 110





	1. Samhain

October – and Halloween, in particular – had always been Sarah's favorite time of year. Everything seemed brighter. _Sharper_. The burning reds and oranges of falling leaves more alive than dead. The warmth of apples and cinnamon and spice always lingering long after she'd swallowed the last of her cider or taken the final bite of crumble. The kiss of almost-winter not yet enough to keep her inside and guarded against the elements.

The thrill of fantasy and magic _always_ enough to keep her counting down October days.

It would surprise very few people who knew Sarah – _truly_ knew her – to learn she held a fondness for the October holiday. They understood that costumes and play-acting just touched the surface of the passions of the dreamer. Although, to be fair, it wasn't really proper to refer to a group that included a dwarf, a knightly fox, and a furry rock-calling beast as people.

And she knew all about fairness.

Sarah leaned back into her seat as the light shifted to red. It was October thirtieth some ten years after she'd wished her brother away to the goblins and as she had done every year after she'd moved out of the Victorian, Sarah was returning home to take him out trick-or-treating. Since moving to neighboring Vermont for college, and staying after she graduated, the drive back into New York wasn't long. But this year, Toby had asked (pleaded) that she help him with his costume. Hence the early departure. Apparently, whatever bagged superhero or mildly disturbing ghoul Karen had procured for him no longer met expectations. She still had no idea who or what he planned to dress as, but Toby had never lacked creativity. The year prior - as ten-year-old, mind you - he'd proudly combined an eye-patch from a former pirate costume with the Dracula fangs and cape that Karen had purchased and declared himself the 'Vampire of the Opera'. His 'French' accent made him sound more disagreeable than deadly, but Sarah was glad to see she'd convinced him at least one Broadway musical wasn't "too girly." She shook her head with a smile. Boys. She hadn't yet introduced him to another darker musical that she knew he'd take to – there was plenty of murder and mayhem in Jekyll and Hyde – so she was pretty certain whatever costume he had in mind this year didn't involve a mash-up of stage or literary characters. Neither her father nor Karen shared her love of drama.

The rain started just as she pulled into the driveway, a brisk patter that reminded her that she'd forgotten to stuff her umbrella into the side door. Sarah would remember it later as her third mistake, though the first two were not yet realized. She pushed open her car door with a grimace and hiked up the collar on her windbreaker as she stepped out from the driver's seat.

"Sarah!"

A flash of blond hair momentarily knocked the wind from Sarah, jolting her arm and rendering her makeshift hood completely useless. Still, she laughed as the rain quickened. "Hey, Tobes." She ruffled his rain-slicked hair so it stuck up haphazardly and grinned. He had somehow escaped the house without a coat or umbrella and one quick glance at the doorway told her Karen was severely displeased. Which was the usual. She wrapped an arm around his middle and quickly pulled him towards the house. "Mom's not going to let you go tomorrow if you catch the flu, you know," she whispered with another laugh.

"She _has_ to. I'm going to have the _coolest_ costume on the block. Next level stuff."

"Oh?" Her interest piqued at his obvious excitement. She couldn't remember Toby ever sounding so psyched about a costume. A Nintendo game? Maybe. But even with his creativity, never a costume.

"Un-hunh. I'll show you upstairs. I need your help with it."

Karen gave Toby another disapproving frown before telling him - and Sarah - to leave their now-muddied shoes on the front porch. Sarah had by now learned it better not to argue over the little things, however ridiculous they were, so her loafers were settled alongside Toby's sneakers without a choice word. Instead, she offered her stepmother a polite "good to see you, Karen" as she slipped past her into the foyer. It had been several months since she'd been home.

Toby pulled her up the staircase so hard she wondered for a second if he was getting his Hulk impression ready. But when he led her instead towards her childhood room instead of his own, that thought vanished. She possessed no superhero paraphernalia. She did, however, keep most of her fantastical books and trinkets at home instead of in her cramped Middlebury apartment.

Which was her first mistake.

Toby made a beeline towards her vanity and picked up a book and the sole figurine resting atop. "I borrowed a paperweight from dad and I think I can use my pants and vest from when I was Robin Hood, but I don't have anything that would match this." He hurried back and offered her both, pointing to the sickle-shaped object at the statue's throat.

_Dear God._

Her second mistake, she realized as she paled, had been thinking earlier he'd had no intention to dress as a literary character. The Goblin King, while she remembered full-well was exceedingly _real_ , was nothing more than a villain in an old book to Toby. One who, for some reason after all these years, had suddenly caught his interest. She'd read him the book numerous times over the years, but he'd always gravitated more towards the _goblins_ than their king. Which made her immensely suspicious.

"Uh...why do you want to be him?" she asked, hoping the nervous itch in her throat didn't raise Toby's own suspicions.

"He can do magic!"

Sarah relaxed. _Ah, the kids were into sorcerers this year?_ "How about being Merlin? I think I have an old cloak and a witch hat from a costume in the attic…" But she trailed off when Toby's nose scrunched.

"Nu-unh. He's a king, too. Right? That's more powerful than Merlin. I want to be the Goblin King."

He wasn't wrong, she thought grimly. Jareth had made his position and power quite apparent in her ten-hour ordeal. Magician. King. She made a quick mental run through her known characters but was coming up blank on alternatives that fit those requirements. Unless…"How about Oberon?"

"The Jedi?"

She laughed. "Not Obi-wan; _Oberon_. From 'A Midsummer's Night's Dream'. The King of the Fairies. _Shakespeare_ ," she finished with a dramatic flourish. But she could tell immediately Toby wasn't impressed.

"What's he look like? Do you have a statue? The book?"

She did not. _That_ particular book, having been part of her thesis, was in her apartment in Middlebury. But she recalled several stage depictions. "He wears a crown. Maybe some wings?"

" _Wings?_ " Toby made a gagging motion. "No way."

Sarah sighed and brought one hand to her eyes. Goblin King it was, then. No wings to be found there. She'd just avoid any discussion of Halloween costumes when she next saw her Underground friends. They always declined to mention the king. Unless Toby started making wishes in costume, _he'd_ never know about it. "Did you check with mom? She has some costume jewelry."

He nodded. "Nothing even close."

"And you really need the amulet? How about a crown instead?"

Toby just pointed to the figurine's neck.

It was just her luck that he would _now_ be a stickler for realism. She sighed again. "I don't have anything, but we can try a thrift store. I'm afraid I can't afford the real stuff," she added wryly. Still, she thought it unlikely they'd find anything close, especially the day before Halloween. Maybe Toby would reconsider his costume then.

The thrift shop on Elm had been her fourth mistake.

The first two shops had been busts, filled more with decorative oddities than anything that might pass as costume fare. It was nearly dinnertime, but Toby had pulled out what was undeniably his best impression of a deprived (which he was not) and dying (which he was _also_ not) child making his perfunctory "Last Wish" and Sarah caved to his searching one final store.

She waited near the doorway of "Annie's Antiquities," checking her watch every few minutes while she kept an eye on her brother as he roamed the shelves and display cases. She was giving him five more minutes. _Five_.

He'd needed less than two.

"Got it!"

Sarah glanced up to see him holding a small plastic bag in one hand, and stumbled slightly. "You…found an amulet?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "Close enough. Better than what mom has." And that was it. Halloween 1996: In Which Toby Became the Goblin King.

Sort of.

* * *

For how excited Toby had been about his costume, Sarah was mildly surprised when he insisted on waiting to show her his full ensemble until just before they went out on Halloween. Something about "spoiling the effect" or whatnot. She'd rolled her eyes, but allowed him to keep his pieces to himself until he was ready.

There was only one thing that could spoil her Halloween, and it certainly wasn't a pretend Goblin King.

Sarah was rather proud of her costume that year. She'd spent a fair few hours near the woods by her apartment complex searching for just the right branch – long and curved – and a fair few more whittling it into a passable bow. The bowstring – purchased from a hardware store - was tied around two deliberately placed nails at either end. She'd borrowed a small golden circlet from the Middlebury drama department after assuring her former advisor she'd return it the following week. A heavy hooded cloak (it was October in New York, after all), a long white dress sashed with gold at the waist, and a pair of brown leather boots she'd spent too much on – but reasoned she'd wear throughout the winter – completed the huntress.

"Neat costume. Going as Link?"

Sarah finished tying her sash and looked up, chuckling. She hadn't expected him to know his Greek Gods and Goddesses. "Who?"

"Zelda," Toby threw out another foreign name, one gloved hand holding out the crystal paperweight and the other on a hip. Hips that were now dressed in black pants just a little too small – Robin Hood had been several years back – and accompanied by a dark brown vest over one of his white dress shirts that Karen made him wear to church. He'd unbuttoned the top few buttons so his recent purchase was just visible at the edge of the collar. Tarnished bronze, but – thankfully – oblong instead of sickle-shaped. Otherwise, she might have stumbled even more.

_Goblin King._

Toby's blond hair was nowhere near as long as his inspiration, but he'd done an admirable job of mussing it up so it stuck out in odd directions. Really, the only things missing were Jareth's peculiar upswept markings and mismatched eyes. But she remembered those well enough herself without Toby's costume.

He grinned when Sarah just stared. "What d'ya think? Pretty close, right?"

"Remarkably close." She allowed herself to breathe deeply when Toby tossed the crystal on her bed, and sat on its edge, kicking out and looking far less dignified than the king. "Just don't take anything besides candy when we go out tonight," she finished wryly.

Toby snickered but crossed one hand across his heart dramatically as the ring of the doorbell echoed.

"TOBY! Your friends are here!" Karen hollered from downstairs. At the call, Toby grinned again and grabbed the crystal before rushing out the door.

"COMING!"

Sarah heard him pound down the steps and shook her head with a smile. If he was that psyched with his costume, she'd put aside her feelings towards the king for the night and allow Toby his fun. Lending his likeness seemed the least the king could do after the hassle he'd put them through ten years prior. She plucked her bow from the vanity, and after meeting Toby's two friends – a ninja turtle and a power ranger - Artemis and the almost-Goblin King left the shelter of the Victorian.

Which, as you might expect by now, was her fifth mistake. And from there, there was no turning back.

* * *

After a dozen or so houses, Sarah was thankful she'd thought to bring the cloak. Toby and his two friends didn't seem to notice the sudden chill and hiss of wind at sunset, but she – unlike them - wasn't hyped up on sugar. It was damn cold for October.

Toby, as she expected, was putting on a show of explaining his costume choice at every house they stopped at. She was getting better at not flinching every time he professed he was the Goblin King and would take away the home's youngest child – or pet, if childless – if the owner didn't provide treats. A rather macabre version of trick-or-treating, but the adults seemed to get a kick out of his enthusiasm. He earned plenty of candy.

She checked her watch again when the last touch of day faded: 6:21. Karen had wanted Toby home before seven and the so-called "hooligans" took over the holiday. The risk of her refusing to allow Sarah to take him out the following year was enough to keep Sarah tight to that schedule. "Alright, Tobes. One more house."

His two friends snickered at the nickname, and he groaned, but with only an eye-roll towards her, rushed with them towards the next house on the block. Sarah felt she owed him the last one alone. She leaned back against the tree at the edge of the street and smiled again as Toby thrust his crystal towards the door as it opened.

"He bears quite the likeness, doesn't he?"

Sarah stilled.

"Granted, I don't offer my services in exchange for mere house pets."

She turned towards the mocking lilt and at first, she almost didn't see him. There was just the hint of a shadow, a glint of metal and sharp teeth. The wisps of wild, pale hair against shapeless black as the wind kicked up again. Until he stepped closer.

_Goblin King._

And this was the real thing. No recycled costume or borrowed paperweights. No cheap, misshapen amulet around his neck. Instead, heavy black armor and a high-collared cape that under the dim glow of streetlights, oscillated between deep blue and black. His metallic horned pendant rested in sharp contrast atop his chest, shifting just slightly when he crossed his arms in front. He wasn't yet close enough to where she could see his mismatched eyes clearly, but she felt them on her. _Through_ her. One of his peculiar eyebrows arched when after a minute, she said nothing, lips parted but unable to get them to form words.

His lips twitched into a smirk as he took another step closer. "Happy Samhain, Sarah. Leading a Wild Hunt, are you?"

Instinct kicked in. "Wh-what are you doing here? I didn't wish anyone away."

He snorted gracefully. "No, thankfully not. I don't believe my kingdom would survive another of your wishes. The Goblin City remains in shambles." He grinned again when she reddened slightly. "The veil between worlds is thin on this night. When I crossed, I realized someone was audibly impersonating me – not something to be taken lightly amongst my kind. Imagine my surprise to discover it was your brother."

His words caressed like silk, but the sharp flash of teeth at _brother_ spelled warning and she stilled a second time. "It's just a costume. Toby isn't trying to impersonate you. He doesn't even know you're _real_."

"Is that so? Not for long, I'm afraid, Sarah-mine."

"Woah, impressive costume," the almost-Goblin King declared from behind.

_Damn._

She dropped her hood and turned her head just slightly – not trusting the actual Goblin King to not try something without her sideways glare – to see Toby look up and down at the Goblin King and grin. "I'm the Goblin King, too, but your costume is much better. Where'd you get your amulet?"

"Family heirloom," he drawled.

She saw Toby nod as if he found _inheriting_ the symbol mundane and not at all suspicious. But then, his brow furrowed and he took another look at the king, focusing this time on his face. His eyes?

"Have…we met before?"

The Goblin King grinned again. "Once. For you, a very long time ago."

Toby frowned. "For me?"

This was _not_ happening. The Goblin King was not about to reveal himself and her mistake to her brother. Out in the street. In the dark. While Toby was dressed as _the Goblin King_. Instinct struck again. "He's an old friend from school. Drama major." As if that explained the costume-that-was-anything-but and his inhuman markings.

The Goblin King didn't even flinch at the lie, stepping instead even closer to Sarah's back. "Indeed," she heard him croon, lips inches from her neck. She had no reason to believe he'd cross that invisible boundary but still, the hairs at the back of her neck raised in expectation. Her pulse ticked up as he whispered there again, a heat that caused her to momentarily forget the brisk October air. "Sarah was just about to right several wrongs. It has been far too long since she's called."

_...Several?_ She swallowed hard. She'd obviously irked him when she defeated him. But besides that? Less clear. Was Toby's costume really that offensive?

While she considered it, Toby snorted. And then he asked the almost unthinkable. "Did she dump you, too?"

"Toby!" _Dear God._ Her instinct had severely failed her this time. What had she been _thinking_ to suggest they were well-acquainted?

Pointed canines flashed again. "In a manner of speaking. But as luck would have it, Sarah has expressed an intent to...reconcile."

It was only the unexpected smile into the back of her neck - slow and victorious - that stole her verbal protest and she stilled _again_ as one gloved hand came around her cloak, slipping just inside the edge, to catch her waist. Pulling her back towards him just _slightly_ so she knew what he believed reconciliation entailed. She couldn't stop herself from swallowing again. She should push away. Pull from his grip. But she found herself ensnared in the warmth of his lips at her neck, the scent of sandalwood and spice. The pointed pressure as fingers curved minutely at her hip. The last time he'd been this close, she'd been ensconced in another white dress. That one much more virginal, but the sound of his voice - _singing_ to her - just as distracting. But not nearly as distracting as his lips now at her neck, still smiling.

So, it was again unexpected when the king abruptly pulled away. From the corner of her eye, she saw him bow slightly at Toby and then give her one last glance, and there was a promise there that left Sarah simultaneously worried and thrilled. Her pulse still hadn't slowed.

"I'll see you soon, _Sarah_." And with another wry smile, he backed out of the light of the streetlights. The space between shadows empty air in a silent instant.

Sarah and Toby made it home in time, but just barely.


	2. Harvest Home - Part One

Samhain seemed eternal.

That's what _he_ had called it at least, and everything he'd said and done was looping through Sarah's head in an unending circle. But it was all distorted now: memories of harsh words and silken promises; tainted fruit and expectant glances. Things that shouldn't and couldn't be.

She'd never expected to see him again. When she'd first returned from the Labyrinth, a little corner of her mind both dreamed and feared he'd return, cloak billowing on yet another stormy night, but this time, determined to overpower her will. The anguish of his parting glance replaced by the familiar wry twist of lips. But, the windows had remained locked. No owls had graced the night sky. Her Underground friends came and went. He was never mentioned. She assumed she'd been forgotten.

Another mistake.

He remembered. She didn't know what to make of him now, after all these years, seeking to right unknown wrongs. His reactions had teetered between pleased and slighted. It was…peculiar.

Toby hadn't seemed to notice the tension, too enthralled by the king's impressive "costume" and the memory of something just out of reach. She had been in no hurry to respond to his questions and comments on the run home; nonsense that ranged from 'he was cool; who was he?' to 'do you like him? He seemed to like you' and 'when are you seeing him again?' Only after she'd tersely responded that he was _not_ and _no one_ and _she did not_ and _he does not_ and _absolutely never_ did he give up. But she knew some of those things weren't quite true.

She turned over in bed and groaned, exhausted by the clock which kept dipping further into morning. Sleep wouldn't come, but he was coming. Soon. He'd promised.

And this time, she swore she'd be ready.

* * *

She didn't stay home long.

While she normally enjoyed listening to Toby rehash his Halloween evening to Karen and her father over breakfast, Karen – nosy as she was – was certain to read too much into the appearance and actions of the Goblin King. Because there was no way Toby wouldn't bring him up. Hopefully, if she wasn't there to answer those prying questions, Karen would forget the story. Her father certainly would.

The drive back was uneventful. Middlebury was a quiet college town and a welcome escape from the madness of the prior evening. And so, when she unlocked the door to her apartment and poked her head in to see no sign of the Goblin King or his magic, she took a deep calming breath. 'Soon' hadn't meant the following morning. Or the rest of the day.

Or the next.

Or the next, when she'd returned the golden circlet to her former advisor.

Or the week after, when she'd finally finished the rough draft of her manuscript.

Or the week after that, when she'd made so many changes to it that she barely recognized its former plot.

And only then – almost three weeks after the king had issued his promise that he'd see her _soon_ – did Sarah come to believe it had all been bluster. A parting gift of anxiety as payment for the damage she'd wrought. He'd also mentioned he'd been able to cross into her world because of the pagan holiday of Samhain; without her making any wishes, he might be limited to similar conditions. Which, if she'd been thorough in her research on pagan holidays, meant he could cross again at 'Yule' at the earliest. Nowhere near 'soon' by her standards. And really, it had never made sense that he'd have any desire to see her again.

Hardships unnumbered, and mistakes untold. And before she knew it, it was Thanksgiving.

It was late in November that year, and the added week seemed to swallow whatever sparse warmth the distancing sun provided. She remembered her heavy hooded coat – and umbrella – when she packed this time. Though she didn't expect much traffic on the short ride, Sarah had leaned on the side of caution and left Vermont early Wednesday morning. Karen typically spent Wednesday prepping pies and making stuffing and was always grateful for her extra hands. Her father had been banned from the kitchen some years back after an unfortunate incident involving an extra crispy bird.

At least they knew the fire alarms worked. The extinguisher, too.

As per usual, Karen had inquired as to whether she was bringing a friend with her for Thanksgiving. And as also per usual, Sarah had politely replied that she was not. If you could call the restrained growl at the back of her throat that accompanied it 'polite', that is. It was no secret that Karen found it incomprehensible that a college-educated, attractive twenty-five-year-old had yet to hold onto a man long enough to bring him to Thanksgiving dinner. But here she was, again making excuses that she'd just broken up with someone (a lie) and had been too busy finishing her manuscript (a partial truth, at least) to become well-enough acquainted with anyone new in time for Thanksgiving. So, she'd expected the usual judging glances between bites of dinner.

She did get them, of course, but for hardly the reason she'd expected.

* * *

It started immediately after she'd unlocked the door of the Victorian: The Questions.

"Sarah! Why didn't you tell us?"

Sarah set her duffle-bag down with a frown, watching Karen wipe both hands with a towel in the kitchen before she hurried to meet her in the foyer. Her joy was unmistakable. Which was exceedingly concerning. "...Tell you what?" Sarah asked nervously. Had Karen realized her bank account was running low? That the manuscript she'd told her she'd submitted was in fact, a work-in-progress tucked alongside her folded sweaters and slacks? That she might need to move - temporarily - back home? That might explain the unnatural sheen in her stepmother's eyes. But... _Dear God._ Was Karen baking in _pearls_?

Karen was beaming now. "You know we'd have said yes if you'd asked, right? I always make plenty of food, just in case."

Confusion morphed quickly into unease. Then to panic. Plenty of food. Pearls. An exuberant stepmother.

_Oh, God. He didn't..._

"How long have you two been dating?"

" _What_?" she about shouted it as she stumbled, and Karen caught her shoulder with a knowing chuckle.

"There's no reason to be ashamed of it, dear. We know you've been working hard on your manuscript, but your social life is important too. You don't want to end up like your cousin Grace."

Sarah was too busy figuring out how to keep the knots in her throat from strangling her to defend her cousin Grace; brilliant, wealthy, single neurosurgeons were still single to Karen. And she had bigger problems. King-sized problems if her instincts were right. Would it be too much to hope they were wrong again?

It was, of course.

"Uhh...what did he tell you?" she asked, looking around quickly, but seeing no unwanted male visitors. "He isn't here, is he?"

She shook her head. "I didn't speak with him, actually. Toby let us know. He seemed thrilled you'd reconciled. He told us all about Halloween."

_Reconciled._ She was going to murder Jareth. He'd been speaking with _Toby_? Scratch that; Toby was on her list too. She'd spoken to him two days ago and he hadn't even mentioned the king. Sarah forced herself to give her stepmother a slim smile before stepping out from her arm. "Right. Is he upstairs in his room?"

"Playing some new game, I think," she responded, nodding. "Your boyfriend certainly knows how to win him over."

Sarah clenched her teeth. Lies _and_ bribery. She knew she'd been right to rebuff his advances, however tempting they were; he was a regular conman. "Wonderful. Excuse me."

She suspected Karen was perplexed by how ungracefully she clomped up the stairs, but she didn't care. Sarah pushed open Toby's door with a scowl. As Karen had thought, he was propped up on his bed, glued to whatever bribe on his Game Boy his fingers were mashing.

"What did he tell you?"

"Hunh?" He didn't even glance up, now rapidly pressing one of the tiny buttons as if his life depended on it.

"Jareth."

"Who?" No semblance of recognition. More button mashing.

Sarah marched into the room and plucked the game system from Toby's hands. "Halloween. _The Goblin King."_

"Hey! I was win—" but Toby trailed off when he caught Sarah's eye. He huffed, though. "You could have told me. I said he was cool."

"I'm serious Toby; what did he tell you?"

"I dunno. Not much," he said just a little too innocently. "That you'd realized your mistakes. You were dating." He shrugged. "That he was staying for Thanksgiving."

"Did he." Her fists clenched unconsciously. _Staying_ for Thanksgiving?

"Un-hunh." He reached back for the game system in Sarah's hands. "And he brought me a gift."

_...I've brought you a gift...but this is not a gift for an ordinary girl who takes care of a screaming baby..._

Sarah groaned and brought a hand to her eyes. She had a nagging feeling she knew why Toby hadn't mentioned his encounter with the king. "And in exchange, you promised not to tell me that he was coming?"

Toby grinned sheepishly. "He said it was a surprise?"

Of course, he had. How fitting of him to promise he'd see her _soon_ and then surprise her a full month later during the holidays. How foolish she'd been to think it'd all been bluster. She wanted nothing more than to tell Toby the Goblin King was lying through his sharp, pearly-white teeth but until she knew exactly what his angle was - because with him, she thought it likely there was always a hidden agenda - she just bit her tongue. From Karen's unusual baking accessories, she assumed he'd told Toby he'd arrive sometime tonight. She'd confront him about it then.

The ring of a doorbell scrambled that thought. Not tonight; _now._

_Jesus._ It was almost as if he'd been watching. She hadn't even had time to shrug off her jacket. Check her hair. Gird her loins and whatever else heroines were supposed to do before they faced down the villain. She handed back Toby's Game Boy before she took a deep breath and headed out into the hallway, grabbing hold of the upstairs banister as she watched her stepmother below rush towards the door. She'd at least have the higher ground.

Karen opened the door inward and from Sarah's angle, it was hard to tell much of anything. But then, there was a baritone rumble followed by an audible gasp and Karen's eager "please, come in," and Sarah knew then Karen had been charmed by the king. Which was unsurprising. Even Sarah could admit his presence was magnetic. His voice velvet, but threaded with just enough barb to warn you that he was more than just a pretty face. But Karen - having been pestering Sarah for Thanksgiving company for _years_ \- heard none of that warning. And in an instant, the door was shut, and she saw him again.

Sort of.

He was him, but not quite, dressed casually in a black cable-knit sweater and khakis - _khakis_ \- and carrying what appeared to be a bottle of wine. Likely expensive. Undoubtedly tainted. His hair was shorter but still blond and tousled in the way that made you want to run your hands through it to see if it felt just as soft as it looked. She couldn't be sure, but she expected too that he'd somehow hidden his peculiar markings above his eyes.

And then, he looked up. And _winked_.

Sarah's eyes narrowed in return as she clasped the banister tighter. She'd been right: he'd costumed himself as a human, free of any strange markings or slightly pointed ears. The disguise did nothing to distract Sarah from his otherworldly-ness, but he was just normal enough that she doubted he would raise suspicion with any member of her family. Karen was practically swooning already, taking the proffered bottle of wine with another gasp and ushering him towards the kitchen. Karen caught her eye just before they passed out of view.

"Sarah, come down and introduce us!"

The nerve. The absolute _nerve_ of him to intrude on her Thanksgiving holiday. She could no longer see him, so she growled and released her grip on the banister, clomping this time down the stairs instead of up. By the time she made it to the kitchen, her father had already emerged out from under whatever pile of legal jargon he'd been reviewing and - _Dear God -_ was offering the Goblin King a beer. At _noon_.

She intercepted it just before it reached Jareth's outstretched hand. "It's a little early for that, dad. I need to have a word with Jareth first." She expected Jareth to protest, but he only grinned when Sarah clutched his arm and dragged him through the kitchen and out the porch doors. Only when she'd shut them behind her and faced away from the windows did she allow herself to glare.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"I believe it is customary to celebrate Harvest Home with friends and family, is it not?"

"Harvest _what_?" But she shook her head. The name didn't matter. "You're neither of those things, Goblin King."

"I recall you stating otherwise on Samhain." When her eyes widened just slightly, he tilted his head and sealed her fate. "And as you know by now, what's said is said. Once again, I find myself living up to your expectations."

His wry look made it clear he was far from exhausted this time around. He was pleased. This was insane. She crossed her arms. "My _expectations_ include you returning to your castle and _staying_ there. Wrangling goblins and chickens and whatever else you've got running rampant. Not this."

"Is that so?" he questioned, crossing his own arms in amusement. "Your actions – or shall I say _reactions_ – suggest otherwise."

She shifted just slightly, remembering full well how she'd failed to pull away from his touch. The surprise of his reappearance on Halloween – and his even more unexpected closeness – had haunted her long past that night. It was one of the reasons she'd been so determined to be prepared for his promised return. And here she was, caught spectacularly off guard. Again.

She changed tactics. "Why?"

He raised one eyebrow. "Why what?"

"You know what. Why take that comment seriously? Why tell Toby we'd 'reconciled'? Why are you here, dressed like that, pretending to be my _boyfriend_? I hardly know you."

"Precisely."

Her brow furrowed. "Excuse me?"

Instead of clarifying, he stalked towards her, steps slow and measured, until Sarah again was smothered by exotic spice and sandalwood. Closer still, until she could see the flecks of ice in his eyes and that the mismatch was not an entirely different shade of blue, but a blown pupil. And with a final step, he was close enough to remind her that the last time he was this near, his lips had been at her neck, his hand on her waist, and she'd been unable to steady her pulse or pull away. His disguise did nothing to lessen those reactions now. As if he noticed, he quirked a corner of lips.

"I think you wish to know me," he said lowly.

Her throat was suddenly dry. "I don't," she replied, after swallowing. She'd prepared herself for this. She _knew_ him, she insisted to herself: Child-snatcher. Manipulator. Conman. _Goblin King._

He only grinned wider, leaning in an inch closer. "Then prove it. Three days. Tell me the same after three days and I'll never bother you again." As if he knew she needed the space to consider his proposal, he stepped back. But the grin had faded. His expression was unreadable.

With him feet away instead of inches, she could process his words. She ran back the conversation once. Twice. And frowned. He was toying with her, she realized, but the benefit was clear. So, she bit. "One. And you leave Toby alone, too."

" _Three_. Those are two bargains."

It was a fair point, she conceded. Still..."Two," she countered. "Today and tomorrow. Final offer." A day and a half, really. Which she was confident she could survive.

"Deal," he crooned immediately, and Sarah stilled when he took a step closer, his lips again inches from her own as if that was how he meant to seal the bargain. He hovered there for several seconds, unmoving save for his steady wisps of breath that defied the chill. Unblinking. After another second, one hand returned to her waist, his thumb tracing a slow, even circle. The other tilted her chin up just slightly. And just when Sarah thought he'd do it, he let go and pulled back, grinning yet again.

"Come, Sarah. I believe you owe me an introduction." He didn't wait for her response before moving past her to open the door, gesturing for her to enter.

She stumbled. Blinked. And then scowled at the proffered door and the arrogant twitch of lips that told her he was not at all concerned about her denying him in two days.

Oh, _yes_. She owed him an introduction.

And she knew precisely how to put him in his place.

* * *

Introductions were held over a lunch of grilled cheese and Karen's famous tomato soup. Sarah jumped in quickly after they'd all sat down.

She was in no way letting him introduce himself as her 'boyfriend'.

"This is Jareth. An old friend from school. His parents decided on a Caribbean cruise this Thanksgiving and he had nowhere else to go. He's promised not to overstay his welcome." There. A friend from school. Her, the magnanimous host. No way he could spin that into something more.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jareth frown just slightly, but it was gone in an instant. Karen's frown, however, remained even after she looked at an oblivious Toby for an explanation. Fortunately, her traitorous brother was too busy shoveling soup-soaked grilled cheese into his mouth to offer any corrections. He was young; Karen would surely believe he'd misinterpreted Jareth's role.

She likely would have, had Jareth not obliterated Sarah's plan.

"Yes," Jareth cut in before Karen could get around to her questions, "although my Sarah is being coy. I attempted to convince her we'd be welcome on the cruise as well, but she insisted on us coming home for Thanksgiving."

Sarah sputtered into her soup, glancing up at Jareth in horror. Karen was beaming again. Her father was also obviously intrigued, leaning in and locking eyes with the king. But it didn't take long for irritation to overtake Sarah's horror. _Damn him._ It was partially her fault, she realized; these were things she should have specified in the bargain. She'd known he was manipulative.

He wasn't alone.

"Oh Sarah dear, you needn't have canceled your romantic plans for us! I would have loved to see pictures." Karen turned to Jareth. "Has the ship left already?"

Fortunately, the heel of Sarah's shoe was quicker than the king's tongue, and she dropped her spoon into her bowl with a clang to mask his hiss. "Yes. Long gone," she insisted through a forced smile. She side-eyed the king in warning, and this time, likely because of the sharp heel to his foot, he refrained from offering his own story. But he had to realize there was no way in _hell_ she was traveling anywhere alone with him. Especially to a place where her stepmother would expect romantic _pictures._ No, she'd survive the next day and a half at home by deflecting questions and ignoring him as much as possible, and then she and her family would never have to deal with his manipulation ever again. Karen would be busy with cooking and her father glued to whatever football game was on. The house was big enough. There was a guest room. No problem.

Wishful thinking on her part.

"Oh, how unfortunate. There's always Christmas. Or New Years! Your uncle Mark proposed on a New Years' cruise."

Karen's lack of subtlety was astounding. Sarah gritted her teeth but offered her stepmother a noncommital shrug. Jareth would be long gone by then, but it would hard to explain without seeming like an ass why Sarah had already planned to be single for Christmas. She saw Karen frown again at her shrug, but her stepmother stood without inquiring further, stacking her father's clean plates atop her own.

Karen ticked her head towards the kitchen. "Sarah?"

The gesture was another less than subtle move and Sarah breathed out through her nose. So much for not inquiring further. Karen's pointed look suggested an inevitable flurry of questions. Perhaps a judgmental comment or two on why she hadn't mentioned her 'boyfriend' or the romantic cruise. But before she could gather her own plate ware, they were snatched from her placemat and she heard the scrape of chair legs to her left.

"That was delicious, Mrs. Williams. Please, allow me to assist you in the kitchen."

Sarah looked up sharply at the king. What the hell? He was offering to help wash dishes? He was quick to join her stepmother at the doorway and one look at Karen's now glowing face was all it took for Sarah to realize the flaw in her plan to ignore him: the inability to counter whatever lies Jareth decided to tell her family. Because that was the only logical reason he'd offer to do manual labor. Given what'd he'd said so far, it was too risky to leave him alone with them.

_Damn it.  
_

"I'll help."

Jareth grinned. Sarah frowned. And so the dance began.

* * *

Sarah would later remember Wednesday afternoon as the week that wouldn't end. Washing dishes? A warm press of hips and the distracting scent of sandalwood at her side. Preparing pie dough? Wandering - _gloveless -_ hands that grazed her own. Chopping apples and vegetables? She'd sliced the tip of her finger when he'd unexpectedly brushed a lock of her hair back from her face. He chuckled. She growled. He shifted closer. She stepped away.

She would have told him off, had Karen not been preening with joy at the sight of Jareth's attentions. Her stepmother barely blinked as the three of them prepared stuffing and both pumpkin and apple pies. Cursing him out would have to wait. She would not lose her cool or admit he affected her. So what if he did? That didn't mean she wanted to _know_ him in the way he'd suggested. She refused to let him win. Like before, Toby's safety was at stake.

"Not too small, Sarah," Karen's voice interrupted her musings. "It won't set properly."

Sarah looked down and realized she'd become a tad aggressive in her bread-tearing. "Sorry," she offered, putting down the end of her loaf. Jareth's knowing grin was impossible to miss when she looked back up, but she ignored him. "What else can I help with?"

Karen passed her the bowl of freshly sliced apples, pointing to the stovetop. "You can get the filling started. Water in the pot first. Then add the sugar, cornstarch, cinnamon, salt, and nutmeg."

Sarah should have known better than to turn her back on the pair. Another mistake in a long series of mistakes, all of them leading her towards the inevitable. But, as she'd once been warned, she took far too much for granted.

Secrets were meant to be _kept_.

Karen's focus on the king intensified as soon as Sarah turned on the stove. "So what do you do, Jareth?"

"I run a small company. Imports and exports, mostly."

Sarah snorted ungracefully as she measured out spices. That was a cavalier way to describe snatching and returning wished away children. But with her turned away, Karen didn't appear to notice her disdain.

"Oh! How impressive. Is there a lot of money in that?"

And there it was. The can-you-provide-for-my-stepdaughter shakedown. She'd expected it from her father. Sarah looked back over her shoulder with a grimace. Karen was clearly more impatient for grandchildren than she'd thought. "That's really not appr-"

"I've found it to be very profitable," Jareth cut in, chuckling. "You might say I live like a king." Karen beamed again. Sarah gripped her measuring spoon tighter.

"And, forgive me if this seems rude"-an eye-roll from Sarah-"but from your accent...you're British, I assume? Do you live here full time? Sarah's not great with fly-"

_"_ Karen! _"_ Sarah shrieked, slamming the jar of cinnamon down on the marble countertop. Good grief, that was all she needed; Jareth discovering any of her weaknesses. Karen had the decency to look abashed, at least.

Jareth laughed again. "While I do fly home occasionally, it's not necessary. It's a quick trip."

It was more true than Karen would ever imagine. Taking and returning. Kings. Owls. He was dancing around his nature with impressive precision. Almost as if this wasn't his first ruse in her world; that he'd practiced his spiel on countless humans. The thought bothered Sarah for unsettling reasons. But she barely had time to consider them before Jareth decided to drop one of her own secrets.

"But you should know, Sarah didn't have any trouble with the trip when I last brought her home."

Sarah's eyes bulged. _Dear God._ More truth, but _that_ was not something Karen needed to know; she'd assume the relationship was far more serious than she wanted to be implied. " _Jareth_ -"

"Yes, Sarah-mine?" he asked, reaching - _again_ \- to pull her hips to meet his own.

Oh, she was going to _destroy_ him. Unequivocally. But Karen was watching the scene with too much interest. Her smile too wide. So Sarah swallowed her insult and forced her own smile, clenching teeth. If he wanted to play dirty; so be it. He had secrets too. "I'd rather not talk about my _one_ visit to your home. You know the food poisoning from whatever you served me lasted days."

There. The bastard couldn't cook. Close enough to the truth of a tainted peach. As she'd expected, Karen's smile drooped considerably. Jareth was exactly the _opposite_ of prime marriage material and she was confident a few off-hand comments would ward off her stepmother's exuberance. Loose chickens, a massive swamp on the property, and a dust-ridden residence were things even Karen - charmed as she was - would insist she run from.

"Oh. Well...I'm glad you're alright, dear. If you'll excuse me a minute." Karen wiped her hands quickly on the dishtowel, making her way out of the kitchen and towards her father's study, likely to fill him in on Jareth's flaw. Karen was nothing if not predictable.

When she'd gone, Sarah pulled from his grip and faced him. Despite her slight, Jareth was still grinning. "You're a bastard." She emphasized it with a glare. He responded with a twitch of lips. She tried to walk around him. He stepped in her path.

More dancing.

" _Move_ ," she hissed. She needed air; just a few minutes away from the distraction of the king to collect her thoughts and plot his takedown.

His lips twitched again, but the king stepped aside and allowed Sarah to pass. "It won't work, you know."

Sarah froze at the doorway, not turning to face him. He was undoubtedly referencing her attempt at sabotage. Perhaps her tension at his presence and her refusal to acknowledge what it did to her. Save for her sliced finger, however, she thought she'd done a spectacular job at keeping that tension bottled and brushing him aside.

Apparently not.

"Even the boy recognized it," he continued when she said nothing.

_Toby._ That was a whole other conversation. "There's nothing to recognize," she insisted.

He chuckled softly then, a sound that lingered in Sarah's mind as she felt him again sidle up behind her. Not touching, but she felt the phantom of his hands at her waist. Lips near her ear, whispering. "Empty words hold no power, Sarah. Not in a bargain with my kind."

She heard her breath hitch. Whether it was from his closeness or the shock of his words, she couldn't be sure. But she recognized in his confidence the hidden catch; the reason he'd crooned at her final offer. Words have power, but only when you mean them. Which, despite all her mistakes, she understood completely. So, she'd ensure she _meant_ them.

She swallowed once to steady herself, preparing another denial; this one pulled from years of drama training. There was no reason this scene would be any different. A line was a line. A lie was a lie. She kept her focus on the foyer. "There's _nothing-"_

He must have heard her pulse again because the phantom hands were no longer a phantom. In an instant, he spun her, keeping her tight against him and silencing her denial. One hand returned to lift her chin. "Try again, precious thing," he whispered.

She tried. Or, she _believed_ she tried. But he was too close, the heat of his whisper against her lips too distracting, and she couldn't recall whether she'd said anything in response to his ask. She knew her mouth had parted as if to say _something_ instead of just allowing the hand holding her chin to slide to one cheek. She knew her breath hitched again. She didn't know what she would do if he leaned in further, but the thrum in her veins and the pang in her chest made her doubt she'd stop him.

Still, as before, he refrained from closing the gap as the whisper returned. "Tell me what you want, Sarah."

It was getting hard to breathe; harder even to think. The heat in his eyes and the hand on her cheek and the crack in the air when he _smirked_. "I..."

"Sarah, make sure you're stir-" Karen's orders snapped Sarah back to the kitchen, and she pulled back, eyes wide at what she'd been poised to say. "Oh!" The beaming smile returned, spurred on by the sight of a flushed Sarah and the closeness of the king. Sarah's earlier quip seemed already forgotten. "There's no need to stop on my account, dear."

At that, Sarah pulled completely from his grasp, shaking her head and thanking whatever god has sent her stepmother in at that precise moment. Sanity returned quickly. "N-no, it's fine. The apples are done. I need to talk to Toby." And without even considering that she was leaving Jareth alone with an again exuberant stepmother, Sarah fled.

She knew she had much bigger problems than whatever he might say.

* * *

She was screwed. Royally - almost literally - screwed. Because she had wanted him to kiss her. She'd been on the cusp of telling him to do so and had Karen not reminded her of reality, she was confident that would have been it. There was no doubt that was his intention. She also doubted that he intended on stopping there.

And she wasn't certain she would have stopped him.

Sarah rubbed at her temples, groaning the entire march upstairs. She needed to know what he'd told Toby. Now, she found it likely this was some twisted revenge plot to get her to admit her attraction and regret her decision. She'd turned him down. She'd battered his ego. She'd beaten his game. And he was set on returning the favor.

She'd assumed Toby had sequestered himself in his room, intent on playing his game and staying as far away from a frantic Karen as possible. She was right. "I need you to tell me exactly what he said to you, Toby."

Toby lowered his game system with a roll of eyes. "I told you I dunno. He's your boyfriend. Ask him."

That was it. Consequences be damned; Toby had to know his lie. "He's _not_ my boyfriend. I haven't seen him since Halloween. When did he speak with you and what did he say?"

At that, Toby set his game down completely. But instead of answering her questions, he raised an eyebrow to show he was less than convinced. "Who is he, then? Your fiancé?"

" _What_? No! Why would you think that?"

Toby shrugged. "He seems to really like you."

"Did he tell you that?"

"Un-hunh."

Sarah stilled, but Toby returned to his game, completely oblivious to her shock. _That_ didn't meld with her impression of his revenge plot. Toby had either misheard or Jareth's deception ran deeper than she'd thought. She didn't know what to do with the third possibility. "Did he tell you how we met?"

Another eye-roll. "You said you met at school."

Sarah exhaled. At least Jareth hadn't been telling Toby stories about the Labyrinth. When Sarah just kept staring, however, Toby spoke up again. "I think he also said something about not letting you go this time. Sounded pretty mushy to me."

The exhale had been too soon. In the context Toby understood, it may have seemed romantic, but to her, it rang of the trap she'd assumed he was setting. If he beat her at this new game, he maintained his ability to interrupt her and Toby's lives whenever he pleased. Perhaps whisk them away. If she couldn't lie tomorrow...

How foolish she'd been to agree to it.

* * *

Sarah spent the rest of the afternoon in her room, plotting, and caring less and less about the lies the king told her family. In the end, they would take her side. Perhaps if she dropped enough barbs about him, her family would kick him out and she wouldn't have to spend the next day struggling over her attraction. She'd keep her end of the bargain and tell him tomorrow what she thought, but there was never any requirement that he _stay_ with her. If he didn't - and her family turned on him - perhaps her lie would be convincing enough to banish him from their lives. Even a few hours apart from him seemed likely to help.

At half-past seven, she heard Karen call Toby to set the table. The timing was perfect. Her planning was complete. The Suppertime Art of Conquering the King - Plan SACK the boyfriend, as it were - was a go. She'd casually pepper in comments about Jareth's faults and wayward intentions and get him booted. She certainly wouldn't be putting up any resistance to the order.

The problem was, of course, that Sarah had left Jareth alone with Karen - in the kitchen - all afternoon. She'd expected lies. A great deal of manipulation and flattery, too. But there were fewer ways of persuading her family that Jareth was a _problem_ once she realized what he'd spent most of the afternoon doing.

Karen's voice echoed from the kitchen just as Sarah had descended stairs. "Sarah dear, come help me with the platters."

It was her first warning that something that afternoon had gone terribly, horribly wrong. Platters. _Plural._ Given the mass of cooking the following day, for as long as Sarah could remember, Karen had served a simple meal of spaghetti on Thanksgiving eve. One large plate of pasta and marinara occasionally topped with meatballs, but the meal never consisting of _platters._

_"_...Platters? _"_ Sarah asked cautiously, nearing the kitchen. The enticing smell of slow-cooked meat - rich with an unfamiliar, savory warmth - was her second warning. Those weren't Karen's meatballs.

"Yes," Karen affirmed, beaming again and carrying a large salad bowl towards the dining room. "Can you grab the roasted potatoes? Your father has the chicken."

Chicken. Potatoes. Salad. A trifecta of food groups that should _not_ be anywhere near the dining room today. Sarah hurried into the kitchen, trying to rein in panic. Her third warning was not so much a warning than an irritatingly smug expression. But the expression was attached to the warning that was the Goblin King. And he was pouring his wine.

There was one obvious reason for his glee, but she asked the question anyway. "What did you do?"

Sharp, pointy teeth betrayed everything. "There was a reason I brought Burgundy, Sarah. It's an excellent cooking wine."

_Dear God._ No wonder Karen was beaming again: the bastard had somehow convinced her he could cook dinner. And he _had_. "You must be insane to think I'd eat anything you made."

He snorted gracefully. "I suspected as much. No wine for you then, I assume?"

Sarah narrowed her eyes but dutifully grabbed the platter of potatoes, turning on her heels towards the dining room where the rest of her family was already serving themselves to what looked like a chicken stew. She set the plate down beside the pot with a noticeable scowl; she was hungry and the damn thing smelled _amazing. "_ Did Jareth make everything?"

Karen shook her head. "Just the coq au vin."

Sarah clenched her teeth. No wonder he'd been so smug. He was masquerading as Julia Child as well as her boyfriend. Jareth sat down with his glass of wine soon after and despite the snag that was his cooking, Sarah had no intention of abandoning her plan. While it was a bit of an adjustment, the chicken actually tied in nicely. Still, she waited until Jareth had lifted his glass to his lips to put the plan into action. "I'm surprised you made chicken. With all your pet chickens running about, I thought you were a vegetarian." She smiled when she heard him choke violently on his wine. Her grin grew when both Karen and her father slowly set down their chicken-laden forks.

"Pet...chickens?" her father asked, brow furrowed. "Do you own a farm?"

With Jareth temporarily sidelined by a lungful of wine, Sarah implemented phase two with a thoughtful glance. "Well, not in the traditional sense. But there are enough animals on the property, I suppose. Although"-and she briefly turned to Jareth-"I keep forgetting what the ones that live near your bog are called. Fire-somethings?"

"You have a _bog_? How cool!" Toby exclaimed. But his delight paled in comparison to the joy Sarah gained from watching Karen's slowly blanching face. As expected, loose chickens and bogs appeared to be dealbreakers. Jareth had reached for water now - decidedly less out of breath - meaning she was about out of time. So, Sarah went for the kill, keeping her focus on Karen.

"It's too bad about the smell, though," she falsely bemoaned, shrugging. "Stays with you even when you enter the home. But at least the grit inside doesn't smell."

Neither Karen nor her father said anything in response, mouths slightly agape, so Sarah helped herself to a forkful of potatoes. Based on that alone, she knew she'd gone three-for-three. It wouldn't be long now. Jareth had caught his breath, but he also seemed too caught off-guard to say anything.

Until he stood. And wait; was he holding a _pager_? She was confident nothing had buzzed or beeped.

"If you'll excuse me. Mr. Williams. Mrs. Williams," he nodded at both in turn, holding up the pager. "But I'm afraid something urgent has come up. Company business."

Sarah was too focused on the bizarreness that was the pager to realize Jareth's smirk had returned; his eyes alight with a mix of pride and amusement. And because she followed the pager as it was stuffed into a khaki pocket, she didn't even notice that he had leaned down until she felt the hand at her chin, tilting up. And in all her arrogance at her three-for-three, she hadn't even considered that in retribution for her quips, that Jareth would offer something other than a retort in response.

It was her biggest mistake yet. Because from that moment on, she knew she'd lose.

His kiss was brief, just the barest press of warm lips, but the soft caress sent a thrill deep into her belly at the promise of more. It pricked at something so unseen that it couldn't be defined by a word. But she knew what it was and she knew he knew it too because she felt him smile just slightly, slowly tracing her cheekbone with his thumb. And then, with just as much shock as his kiss, his lips were gone. The room was suddenly cold. The space by his chair empty in the span of a moment. And the creak of the front door little match for the pounding in her ears and chest.

Sarah had no choice but to turn back to Karen and her father and try to act like nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred; that the man who was supposedly her boyfriend hadn't just stunned her with a second-long kiss. But in the end, it wasn't her own look that was concerning. And she should have realized if she hadn't heard the pager go off, neither had Karen. Jareth had used the most obvious getaway in the book.

" _Sarah Elaine Williams_. What was the purpose of that? No wonder you haven't brought anyone home before. You've mortified him."

And there they were: the expected judging looks.

And she still had one day to go in the bargain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So...this was meant to be a relatively short fic, but then all this happened and I hadn't even gotten to Thanksgiving Day. So, there's a Harvest Home part deux coming around Thanksgiving. I did some brief research, and I've seen the term used as a pagan alternative to Thanksgiving, so hopefully, it fits here.
> 
> An immense THANK YOU to everyone who commented and/or left kudos. Y'all make my day.


	3. Harvest Home - Part Two

Sarah couldn't pinpoint how it had all gone so disastrously wrong. She'd made mistakes; yes. She shouldn't have assisted Toby with finishing his costume. She should have denied knowing the king on Halloween. And she definitely should _not_ have entered into another bargain with him without understanding the parameters of how to win. But even now, it was hard to comprehend how all of that had brought her here, seated at the dining room table, heart pounding from Jareth's kiss, with three severely disappointed glances pinning her in place long after she'd cleaned her plate.

"He's coming back…right?" Toby asked hesitantly. "He didn't even tell us what lived in his bog."

"Yes," Sarah responded, bringing one hand to rest against a temple. Oh, he'd be back. Likely soon. With one day left in their bargain, there was no doubt of that. The question was: what was he up to now and what would he _do_ when he returned? Her quips, while momentarily catching him off-guard, hadn't dissuaded him from continuing his charade as her boyfriend. In fact, they'd emboldened him to make a move. She hadn't exactly returned the kiss, but it had been so brief, and his parting smile against her lips made clear he'd recognized what it meant. And she had plainly _not_ tried to push him away. His escalating things seemed inevitable.

Her pulse ticked up at the thought, though not from fear. Oh _yes_ ; she was screwed. Because of a single kiss.

The screech of chair legs broke the long silence and she looked up to see Karen moving fast towards the kitchen. She hadn't brought her plates. Sarah could only assume the situation called for more wine.

Wrong again, of course.

"What's his last name?" Karen shouted back. "And the name of his company?"

A chill ran through Sarah at what Karen had sought. Still, because she needed time to contemplate more lies, she asked, "what?"

Karen returned to the dining room carrying two large books in her arms. One yellow. One white. Both equally ruinous. Karen pushed aside Sarah's plate before plopping both down in front of her, pointing. "That is not how we treat guests in this house. We both know he didn't have a company emergency. Call him. Leave a message."

It was like she was fifteen all over again, being scolded for something Karen hadn't understood. Her father, so equally disapproving at this point that she doubted she'd gain his usual sympathy. Although - and here Sarah calmed slightly - with Jareth gone, there was no reason now that the story couldn't change. "It's not what you think. He's not my boyfrie-"

"I don't care what you call him," Karen interrupted. "Friend. Boyfriend. That's no excuse for rudeness." Her finger didn't budge.

"But-"

"Call him, Sarah," her father's voice joined the horrific chorus.

Call him. _Call_ him? She only knew one way to call him and it was certain to be the most disastrous thing to happen all day. And leaving a message with someone random was impossible with Karen hovering over her shoulder; she knew of no "Jareth" she could point to in the phonebook. "It's not that simple. He's...not in the phonebook."

"Well, how do you reach him? You must have his number written down somewhere. His pager number at least."

It was clear Karen had no intention of dropping her inquisition. It was going to make her sound like even more of an ass, but..."I don't reach him," Sarah tried. "He contacts me." Mostly true. And the only other out Sarah could think of at the moment.

The pause that followed was even more severe than the prior judging glances. But something new had come over her father. Confusion? Concern? It was assuredly less judgmental than the look he'd worn when Jareth had departed. Perhaps he was realizing that Jareth was more of a stalker than a boyfriend? If so, she'd at least have him on her side. Because her brother sure wasn't.

"Oh! Wait!" Toby shouted, leaping from his chair and rushing towards the foyer. "I have something."

Sarah froze. She knew Jareth had already given him one gift, but the game cartridge was in no way helpful in contacting him. Which meant he'd left something else. Her mind raced unbidden to memories of proffered crystals. To snakes and scarves and perfectly ripe fruit. Nothing that she believed Toby would consider helpful, but her unease remained. Toby would have mentioned earlier if Jareth had given him something...unusual, wouldn't he? Surely, Jareth would have thought better than to leave him something with magic?

She ended up being one-for-two.

"Here," Toby offered, handing Sarah a small box once he'd bounded down the stairs. "He told me to give you this."

She didn't want to open it. She knew what it held. It was too obvious. The silver box was just the right size for her father's paperweight; the same one Toby had borrowed for his costume. But Jareth was mad to think she'd take his crystal _now_ \- in the company of her oblivious family - when she'd repeatedly refused his offers in private. She refused to even touch it. "You didn't open it, did you? Or touch it?" God knows what Jareth was up to, leaving something like that with Toby.

Toby just shook his head. "He said it was only for you."

_Only for me._ Sarah's heart thumped.

"Well, what is it?" Karen questioned eagerly as she leaned in to inspect the shining box.

For Sarah, Karen's eagerness was far more concerning than ire. Eagerness meant nosiness and knowing Karen, there was little chance Sarah would be able to keep the box's contents private. So, she lifted the lid carefully and dumped the shimmering object onto the napkin beside the phonebooks. But it was visibly different from the crystals he'd offered her in the past. More like a snowglobe, with objects - or in this case, a small parchment with numbers - placed inside. It was so suspiciously convenient that Sarah knew he _was_ watching them, somehow. He'd manipulated the crystal from afar.

"Oh! He did leave his number. Perfect." Karen picked up the crystal before Sarah could yelp a warning and gestured for Sarah to follow her into the kitchen. Sarah glanced at her father briefly, but whatever concern he'd shown had now faded into resignation. Karen's orders, as she long knew, reigned in the house. There was nothing to do but comply.

The phone was pressed into Sarah's hand seconds later. "Go on. Apologize."

This was mortifying. She knew he'd answer. There was no reason he'd magic her his "phone number" just so she could leave a voicemail. She'd punched in the numbers floating in the crystal with a scowl, turning away from Karen. It only "rang" once.

She heard his chuckle first, gloating. But then, "I did warn you that your attempts wouldn't work, Sarah-mine. Although I admire your tenacity."

_Tenacity._ The cocky bastard. "Jareth," she started tightly, "I am calling to apologize if anything I said offended you."

"I believe I made clear you did not," he responded lowly, and Sarah's grip on the phone slipped just slightly. More subtle laughter, as if he saw. "Tell me, Sarah, do you wish to forfeit?"

Sarah glanced over at Karen quickly but she was still paying too much attention to the call for her to issue a denial. At least Karen couldn't hear him. "Do you accept my apology?"

"Or do you mean to return the favor first? You always were determined to best me. I can be generous, you know."

"What'd he say, dear?" Karen responded when Sarah's mouth parted, throat again dry.

"Or perhaps you'd prefer to cocoon yourself in denial for another day. Does it thrill you? Fighting against me? Is that why your pulse races at my touch? Why your breath hitches just so?"

" _No_ ," she pressed, although how she'd formed the word, she couldn't say. Her throat itched. Her lungs burned when she drew air. Why was he doing this? What did he _want?_

Karen took the response as for her, frowning. "No?" But Sarah didn't hear her stepmother, too focused on the slow click of the king's tongue and his one last arrogant chuckle.

" _Try again_."

Sarah slammed the phone back into the holster.

Karen eyed the phone with concern, then tilted her head towards Sarah, hands on her hips. "Well?"

"He's...not offended," she replied shakily. "He'll be back." Despite her abysmal track record, of that she was sure. He'd already escalated things.

* * *

Sarah debated with herself for a good thirty minutes on whether calling them was a good idea. Karen was undoubtedly wide awake, just waiting for the doorbell to ring. Even if he'd already drifted off, Toby wasn't nearly as sound a sleeper as he used to be. But by ten-fifteen, the anxiety of not asking outweighed those risks. She'd lock her door. If anyone knocked, she'd pretend she'd phoned a friend. A very _loud_ friend.

To her relief, she'd learned when she moved to Vermont that her ability to call her Underground friends wasn't limited to her vanity mirror; any mirror would do. Still, the nostalgia she felt from calling them here - in the house where it'd all begun - was almost overpowering.

"Hoggle, Ludo, Sir Didymus," she started, falling into her vanity chair. "I need you."

The glass rippled white. Then silver-gray, twisting. It settled seconds later on a sole reddish-brown figure who let out an unexpected sigh. "'Spected you'd call."

Her anxiety had clearly not been misplaced. "What do you know, Hoggle?"

Another sigh. "Nuthin' helpful, missy. He hasn't spoken to me in ages. He left Didymus in charge. Ludo's helpin'. 'S why they's not here."

"Ages?" She frowned when Hoggle nodded in response. She'd assumed Jareth had been furious with her three friends for assisting in her victory, but..."Since when?" Even though a part of her already knew.

"Since you's been here."

She gaped at him. Ten years. He'd held a grudge against Hoggle for _ten years_? She didn't know how old Hoggle was - or any of them, really - but that seemed unreasonably long. Wasn't Hoggle in his employ? "Is that...unusual?"

Another nod. She watched him open his mouth as if to elaborate but he shut it just as quickly, wincing. Which raised Sarah's concern. There was something he knew that he wasn't telling her. Something significant. "What?"

"'S nuthin'."

From his pallor, however, she knew it wasn't _nothing._ But he seemed set on not explaining why it was unusual. So she tried another approach. "How come you've never mentioned this before?"

"You never asked about 'im," he said, flinching just slightly at the sharp edge in her question.

It was true; she hadn't. She had very purposefully avoided all topics that might even hint towards a mention of Jareth. So had they. But now, because of it, she was at a loss of how to reconcile the sudden news of Jareth's avoidance of Hoggle with him leaving Sir Didymus and Ludo in charge. What had Hoggle done that had been so different? Help her out of the oubliette? Over the wall? If anything, he'd been the one who'd most tried to _prevent_ her from winning, what with the tainted peach. She shook her head to clear it, bringing a hand to rub at her eyes. More mysteries. "How about Sir Didymus? Did he tell you what the Goblin King said when he left him in charge?"

"Jus' that he'd be here ah...Above." He appeared to look around the room once. "Is he...there?"

"At the moment; no," she said, dropping her hand. "But he's coming back. I was stupid enough to make another bargain with him."

She saw him flinch again and knew he also thought her to be a fool. But, after a second, his curiosity won out. "What sorta bargain?"

"One I'm going to lose." That was all he needed to know. Unless..."How much do you know about making deals with him? About loopholes? He definitely skirted the rules when I was in the Labyrinth. I didn't get the thirteen hours he'd promised."

"Oh, he's good with loopholes. All them Fae are. Nuthin's ever straight with 'im."

Fae. She'd suspected as much. She'd done her research, obscure as it was. Masters of trickery and deception. Which meant he was certain to bend their bargain in the way it was most advantageous to him. She didn't need to be Fae to do the same. The wording was key; what _exactly_ had she promised? She furrowed her brow, thinking. Two days. Never bothering her or Toby again. Telling him...Sarah's eyes bulged. That was it: the loophole. He'd been surprisingly careless in his wording, actually. Oh, he was sure to be _furious_ but she didn't care.

One day. She'd just need to keep up the façade of disinterest for one day. She had no idea what he'd been plotting in his hours away but in the end, whether or not she wished to "know him" after it all would be irrelevant.

It was. Mostly.

* * *

She saw him through the front windows around eleven and opened the door before he rang the doorbell. She'd been waiting. Lines ready. She wasn't willing to risk Karen being charmed again and offering the king something other than the guest room.

Like her bedroom, for instance.

It had taken some effort, but Sarah had assured her stepmother - who _had_ been wide awake - that she'd "make him comfortable" for the night when he'd returned, though she knew their understandings of that phrase differed. Comfort was a relative term. He should be damn pleased she wasn't relegating him to her own oubliette: the basement.

"I won't be returning the favor," she offered crisply once he'd made it to the door. "And I don't appreciate being _spied_ on."

As was now familiar, his lips twitched. He seemed endlessly amused by her. "So you say."

She frowned at him, noticing the small black bag he now carried but decided against asking. It didn't matter what he'd planned. She had the edge. She just needed to play it cool so he wouldn't suspect as much. She stepped back and jerked her head for him to enter. "If you're intent on staying here, get in. It's damn cold." She turned on her heels, knowing he would follow. She also expected him to tail her all the way to her bedroom. Which he did.

"Nice try," she said with a snort, pointing as she spun to face him. "Guest room is down the hall to the left. Don't break anything."

"Oh, _Sarah,"_ he leaned in, purring her name against her ear. "I haven't even begun to try."

Sarah had to grab hold of one side of the doorframe, every nerve suddenly on end. She heard the implicit promise. _Jesus;_ he'd wasted no time. She didn't doubt him, either. He'd toyed with her before, but he wasn't playing now; the heat had resurfaced in his eyes, beckoning, and it was only the sudden hand at her hip that kept her from tilting completely. Another smirk, this one more victorious than amused. Without blinking, his other hand came around her back, and she jumped just slightly when his fingertips traced the skin just above her waistband. Testing.

"Would you like me to?"

_Yes._ " _No_ _,"_ she hissed instead. Win or lose, he was going to ruin her for other men. He probably already had.

"You're back!"

Sarah jumped again when the hand at her back slid an inch higher, pulling her against his side and out into the hall. _Toby_. Their conversation had drawn him from his bedroom. His relief was evident, though why Toby was so enamored with the king continued to baffle her. He'd met other "boyfriends" before. He'd never shown a lick of interest. Jareth was an entirely different situation, obviously, but she had no reason to suspect Toby knew anything about that. _Damn costume. Damn bribery._ _Damn bog._ "I told you he would be," she said after he'd rushed down the hall to meet them.

Toby nodded towards the bag, then, still holding his smile. "Is it in there? All of it?"

_...What the hell?_ The rumble of Jareth's chest flared her unease. Laughter. _Confirming_ laughter. Something had been planned, and it was something Toby was psyched about. The level of badness was off the charts.

_Dear God. Jareth better not be planning an impromptu magic show..._

"The reason for my sudden departure," he crooned. "I had intended on showing you tomorrow, but perhaps you'd _wish_ a previe-"

Panic made her do it. Panic and rapid risk-assessment. Because Toby learning the truth about Jareth was something she couldn't undo, and he was certain to be furious with her - and _more_ enamored with the magical king - if he did. She wasn't wearing shoes. She only knew one surefire way to cut him off. So, she twisted, grasped the back of his neck, and _pulled_.

The twitch of fingers at her back told her he was surprised by the ferocity of her kiss, and she used his imbalance to pull him back into her room, one hand still holding the nape of his neck. She vaguely heard her brother _oooh_ , but the sound was muffled, distorted by the soft moan (his? hers?) as that surprise morphed into triumph. His pressure increased, caressing. And the familiar smile - all heat and electricity - as his lips fought for control was almost enough to let him keep pushing her back towards the bed and abandon her hasty plan.

Almost.

In an even swifter turn, still preying off the guise of his victory, she shifted him behind her and grabbed for the open door. The shock of the ensuing slam separated his lips from hers. "Don't. You. _Dare_ ," she demanded, breathing heavily as she glared. "Toby can't know."

His mouth had been slightly parted but at her command, it closed briefly, twitching. "I've already told you he recognized it."

"Not _that_ ," she retorted, growling. "He can't know who you really are. Stay away from him."

"In here, perhaps?"

"If it keeps you away from him? Yes." The gleam in his eyes was just as distracting as the flash of teeth, but she pushed through. "But _only_ if you swear to me that you won't tell him, or _show_ him, that you're the Goblin King."

"So sworn."

She stumbled at the speed at which he'd responded, the grin never leaving his face, and some of her panic resurfaced. That was far too quick. Too eager. Meaning, there was little chance that had been what he'd been about to reveal in the hallway. As she tried to figure out what he could possibly be planning, she watched him move around the room, absently tracing his fingers atop her dresser. Then the bookshelf - books, baubles, and trinkets - until he finally settled near the vanity. The mirror reflected his delight as he picked up his likeness.

"I assume this is where your brother found his inspiration on Samhain?"

"...Yes," she offered slowly, caught off guard by the sudden softness in his tone. "My first mistake."

He snorted, setting the statute down. "That wasn't your first mistake."

Sarah's brow furrowed, but she said nothing. She already knew he'd been watching her. Mistakes were also relative. God knows what else he thought she'd screwed up. Wishing Toby away, undoubtedly. "You can have the bed. I've got a sleeping bag in the closet." It was old and threadbare, but it would have to do. That way, she could place herself by the door and avert his sneaking out to greet her family alone in the morning. She wouldn't be making _that_ mistake again.

She heard him chuckle, but he didn't protest, so she strode to the closet to grab the sleeping bag, spare pillow, and a sweatshirt to pull over her nightwear. As a corporate attorney, her father was hardly hurting for money, but that didn't stop him from turning down the thermostat nightly. She found one she'd worn in high school but first, she looked quickly back at Jareth when she heard him whip back her heavy comforter. He'd shrugged off his sweater alone, revealing a plain black tee-shirt beneath. After she pulled on the sweatshirt and pushed her hair out from the collar, she looked a second time.

And the second time, she saw too much.

As before, there was just a hint of a shadow. An expected glint of metal and sharp teeth and wisps of wild, pale hair that he'd magicked to return. But shapeless black had been replaced by dark form-fitting pants and a long, pale expanse of lithe muscle. Fine lines that were almost magnetic. She imagined herself reaching out, memorizing through fingertips, and cursed when those fingers visibly _twitched_. He knew he was beautiful. He'd known how she'd react. The glint of his smirk was suddenly amplified by unrepentant confidence in his mismatched eyes. And as she stared, she realized the hint of a shadow was the weight of her plan, wavering.

She knew he was waiting for her to comment. Perhaps forfeit the bargain then and there, and admit what she suspected he already knew. Beautiful. Seductive. _D_ _isastrous_. "You're going to be freezing," she said after forcing her eyes shut.

"I doubt that."

Oh, but he was _arrogant_ , too. Did he really think that his state of undress would be enough to undo her? To lure her to bed? The curl of his tongue pricked at her obstinance. "Unless the fae are impervious to cold; I _do_ ," she said, eyes focused on everything but his chest. She unfurled her sleeping bag, whipping it once dramatically by the door before laying it flat.

"Your confidence is inspiring," he offered drolly. And then, "I'd wondered if you knew."

The change in tone threw her off again, and it took her a moment to match what he was referencing. _Fae._ "Hoggle confirmed my suspicions."

"Then you should know very few things can harm me." He paused, tilting his head with a slight grin. "But if my attire concerns you, I would be more than happy to dress in whatever would please you."

She frowned at him. He was toying with her again. One moment all heat and allure; the next, arrogance and barely veiled amusement. All for one, twisted purpose. She bent down to unzip the sleeping bag. "Wear what you want. I don't care."

He chuckled softly. "I think you care a great deal."

She snapped her eyes to his, still frowning. He had shifted on the bed, watching her pensively with one hand propping up his head and his long legs crossed out in front of him. Even there, sprawled on her own sort of throne, he held an easy grace that rankled her. She ignored his comment. "What is the point of this, Jareth?"

"Beg pardon?"

"This is the most ridiculous revenge plot imaginable."

Jareth uncrossed his legs but kept his pensive stare, tilting his head just slightly. "Is that what you think?"

She had. Still did, mostly. She rolled her eyes and slid into the sleeping bag. "It was ten years ago. I'm stubborn, but even I don't hold a grudge that long."

"It would appear otherwise."

"Excuse me?"

But he ignored her, lifting his legs over the side of the bed briefly so he could fold the coverlet over himself. When he looked back, there was an unreadable expression on his face. His arrogance had faded. He opened his mouth slightly, then hesitated, and the strangeness of his indecision caused her to sit up with a jolt. She'd finally startled him into silence. A part of her hoped it lasted through Thanksgiving. A bigger part of her wished to know what he was holding back. But she watched him frown and twist away from her probing look, and the only answers she heard were the sounds of his deep, even breathing.

And _damn him_ ; that rankled the most.

* * *

She had expected a rough night's sleep - what with the thin sleeping bag and cold, hard floor - so she'd prepared. Her sweatshirt was faded, but warm. Her pillow was filled with plump, down feathers. Neither of those things helped the chill, however, that clung to Sarah as she ruminated on his last words. They irritated her. Caused her stomach to roil and her jaw to clench. The chill was because she knew _why_ they did so, and that bothered her more than anything he'd left unsaid.

He was right. Again.

She must have eventually fallen asleep because the soft, steady knocking pierced through the edge of her dream. She'd expected that too: the dreams. After all that had happened, there was no way she would have dreamed of anything but him.

"Sarah? Are you up?"

_Karen_. Sarah sat up quickly, looking towards the clock by her bedside and wincing. She'd meant to wake before her stepmother. Jareth, too. He was sitting up, fully dressed (thankfully), and rolling a crystal across palms. She scowled at it, and then up at him, holding a finger to her mouth meaningfully. His lips just twitched. But, he vanished the crystal and leaned back against the headboard, crossing his hands behind his head and appearing to cede to her wordless demands. She threw back the top layer of her sleeping bag. "Yeah, I'm just getting ready." She sent a silent prayer the next question wouldn't come.

"Did Jareth come back? The guest room is empty."

Someone somewhere despised her. She heard Jareth chuckle but he said nothing, likely amused by thoughts of how she was going to twist her way out of this predicament. "Boyfriend" in her bedroom. Guest room unused. She was just keeping an eye on him? She winced again. Still problematic. Toby had already seen her drag him into her room last night by his lips. It was, frankly, untwistable. "Yes, he's here," she sighed. And now Karen would just _croon._..

"Oh! Wonderful. Tell him I'm making waffles."

"That's very kind of you, Mrs. Williams," he replied, still grinning at Sarah. She sent a quickly pleading glance in return. Because she knew what was likely to come next; the double entendre about being _starving_ aligned with just about every move he'd tried so far. He snorted but settled quietly against the headboard again.

Karen's footsteps faded down the hallway and Sarah groaned as she plucked a red, mock neck sweater and dark blue jeans from her closet. Her stepmother was certain to be insufferable now. Between her hints and Jareth's scheming - not to mention, her _brother's_ \- this had all the makings of a Thanksgiving catastrophe. She yearned for the days when an extra crispy bird was the holiday's biggest complication. Although...he'd acquiesced to her finger and pleading glance. Would he do it if she asked? "I would _really_ appreciate it if you didn't make more of this than it was. I promised you two days; not a lifetime of judgment from my family."

"Judgment?"

"Yes," she affirmed, and because he actually seemed confused, she continued, rolling her eyes. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed how you've charmed them. It's going to be painful enough to deal with them as it is."

"Ah," and he chuckled, "you're still convinced you're going to win."

She was certain of it. Well, she was certain she knew _how_ to win. She walked towards the bed, keeping her eyes locked on his as she asserted, " _yes_." He said nothing, just watching her, so she tried again. "Can you do me that one favor?"

He cocked his head, expressionless. Then shifted it back again. She knew she'd offered him the opportunity to demand his own favor in return, so it was just a matter of waiting for the proverbial axe to drop. Another kiss? Another day? Another visit? She wasn't sure which was more dangerous. But, to her surprise, he kicked his legs off the bed and stood, walking around her and towards the door.

Sarah watched him nervously. His earlier silence had already wrought enough trouble. Was he plotting again? "Well?"

He turned, hand on the doorknob, and quirked a corner of lips. "You should get dressed, Sarah. I'm sure you're also _starving_." And he left her gaping.

Catastrophe. Definitely.

* * *

Thanksgiving day went about as spectacularly as Sarah predicted.

Brunch consisted of coffee, fresh-squeezed orange juice, bacon, eggs, waffles, and swooning. Karen's plate was the one piled with the swooning, of course. But for Sarah, a dash of Karen's inappropriate questions here and a pinch of Jareth's less-than-subtle amusement there turned what should have been a pleasant meal into an hour-long battle. She'd done her best to parry any of Jareth's comments that piqued Karen's interest (namely, everything), but Jareth had learned from yesterday's sabotage: he sat across the table and he waited for her to take a bite before he drank. At the very best, she came out even.

And then there were Toby's knowing glances. Those bothered her the most. Particularly since they appeared to heighten into a maelstrom as the day progressed.

But we'll get to that in a bit.

After brunch, Karen had retreated to the kitchen to baste, broil, and bake an inordinate amount of food. Turkey. Mashed potatoes. Gravy. Green bean casserole. Honey glazed carrots. Stuffing. _Two_ pies. A feast meant for a gathering of at least twelve, rather than five. Jareth - the obvious reason for the exorbitance - had again offered to assist, so Sarah was gifted with several more hours of charming (crafty) conversation and protective (distracting) touches and glances. She'd at least expected them this time. Her fingers remained intact as she peeled and sliced, although they _itched_. She hated that she knew why. But, she kept her tongue in check. Figuratively and literally.

Throughout this all, Sarah was a tangled mess of nerves. The matter of their shared accommodations had yet to be raised, despite Jareth dancing around the point several times. Sarah was convinced he'd decided to fell her with anxiety alongside his usual persuasions. Karen, predictably, hadn't needed that confirmation of seriousness to continue her plotting: she'd rattled off a list of favorite vacation spots (all suitably secluded and "romantic," of course) before Sarah had even taken a sip of coffee. He'd chuckled. Agreeably, of course. Always so _damned_ agreeably.

While the turkey was broiling and the potatoes were boiling, and there was nothing to do but wait, Sarah had accepted her father's invitation to help cheer on the Bills. The team needed far more help than cheering, but the game would at least serve as a distraction. Plus, she doubted Jareth would make any additional moves in the company of her father who - thank God - hadn't yet devolved into swooning. She didn't understand the appeal of large, helmeted men flinging a ball through the air and trying to break the members of the opposing team in the process, but her father seemed to think it was an art form. Art that, unfortunately, spurred dangerous ideas.

"Does this game have to be played with that leather ball?"

Sarah side-eyed the king on the couch nervously. There was a glint in his eyes that she didn't at all trust. Her father shared none of her concern.

"Aerodynamically, the oblong shape is best. But no, I don't think you'd need it to be made of leather. Why?"

"Curiosity. This particular game hasn't made it to where I'm from. I know several acquaintances who would excel in a game of tossed objects."

If Sarah had been eating, she would have choked. Tossed... _objects_? Like heads and limbs?

Her father, obviously, heard none of Sarah's horrified inner monologue and nodded. "It's a shame you don't have football in England. Best game in the world."

"Indeed," Jareth hummed. "Although, I would argue we have something better."

Now her glance was panicked. She knew of only one "game" he played, but he wouldn't...would he? He'd _promised._ Although - and she paled - she'd only made him promise not to tell _Toby_ about the Labyrinth.

"CRICKET," she shouted.

Her father and Jareth looked at her sharply. Her father surprised; Jareth positively gleeful at her outburst. "Yes," Jareth crooned, hanging on the word, "although I am most partial to shin-kicking. A martial art, of sorts."

This time, she did choke. _Violently_. The bastard was openly trying to give her a heart attack. Shin-kicking? She doubted his goblins even _had_ shins. "That sounds like a terrible game," she said, after catching her breath. "I'd stick to football." Bizarre as it was, that seemed likely to cause the least harm; the fireys enjoyed the limb tossing, at least. "Less violent."

"Sounds neat to me. Do you win by kicking the hardest?"

Sarah groaned. _Toby._ She'd missed him sneaking into the armchair in the corner. Of course, he'd be psyched about any sport that required foot-to-shin combat. One more mark against her and towards Jareth.

Jareth chuckled. "Essentially. I could show you sometime."

" _No_."

Three sharp glances this time. Jareth's was impossibly more gleeful. But he wasn't at all caught off guard. "Yes, it is quite the trip, and we just became reacquainted. But perhaps Sarah will show you one day."

She wanted to tell him _when hell freezes over._ Instead, because she didn't think a third outburst would fly, she gritted her teeth and shrugged.

The rest of the game was spent in blissful silence. Her father was glued to the Bills (they were losing), and he lost interest in violent, fantastical sports. Toby, however, spent the fourth quarter bouncing in his seat, his gaze darting between her and Jareth. Jareth held his smirk while the Bills were ultimately clobbered, but the gestures only set off level one alarm bells as opposed to full-blown panic.

She really should have panicked.

The food at Thanksgiving dinner was spectacular, Sarah admitted. At four-thirty, Karen had emerged from the kitchen, holding a steaming turkey that was just the right shade of crispy on their nicest serving platter. Stuffing with sweet, fennel sausage and potatoes that looked more like clouds than a root vegetable. A china gravy boat filled with hearty mushroom gravy, spicy-sweet carrots, and a casserole dish piled with green beans that were smothered in fried onions completed the first course. Even Jareth had seemed impressed. Karen - unlike him, she was sure - hadn't used a lick of magic. Sarah served herself to a bit of everything and savored the richness of it all. It was absolutely glorious.

But, of course, after her first plate, everything had gone to hell. It seemed fitting that after all of the madness, something as simple as pie would be her downfall.

"Who wants pie?" Karen asked, standing to place her napkin on the table. "Apple or pumpkin?"

"I'll have pumpkin," Sarah said. "Thanks, Karen."

Karen and Toby twitched. _Noticeably._ "You should really try the apple, Sarah," Karen replied, slowly, "since you helped so much with the filling."

"Uh...okay. Sure. Apple." Weird. But she'd probably have a piece of both, anyway. It didn't matter in what order.

You, by now, should know that it most assuredly did. But the pie was brought. The glances of her stepmother and brother just a little too eager as Karen slid a thick slice of apple pie in front of Sarah. But Sarah was oblivious. It was _pie;_ not a lottery ticket or scratch-off. There was no prize to be won.

Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, _wrong_.

She realized after one bite that she'd screwed up the spices on the pie filling and winced. Too sweet. Not enough cinnamon and barely a clove to be found. And a hint of something that pricked at a dream.

_Oh, God..._

Her fork clattered against the plate. She'd been so careful. So attentive to his moves. She hadn't accounted for her family's. She could taste it now: the persuasion in his glance and the temptation laced through a seemingly simple ask. The bag that hid a different sort of magic than crystals, snakes, or scarves that he _must_ have slipped to Karen. The smile that now, seated across, was as cloyingly sweet as the peaches on her tongue.

Her family might have said something, but the words were as incomprehensible as her newest mistake, and even those fell short of the ploy that glinted at the edge of pie filling.

"What did you do?" she whispered harshly, staring. She knew she'd swallowed what must have been tainted fruit, but what that meant was unclear. She quickly glanced at the bronze, engraved offense amidst the peaches. "What is this?"

"A key!"

Jareth's eyes said everything, though Toby had shouted the obvious. Glinting. Intense. _Victorious_. The easy grace he carried in her bedroom settled in the seat as he leaned back in his chair. "It's an offer," he said simply, still focused solely on Sarah's lost expression, "presented in a memory of when we first met." He smiled then, though this one lacked the usual amusement. "It's also a fitting metaphor."

A _metaphor_? She stared. While only she would understand the reference to his kingdom, she knew her family understood what keys - unlike crystals - tended to signify. And he had blindsided her, trapped between his knowing look and an eager stepmother and enthralled brother who could _never_ know what he was offering and why it was so unacceptable. He owned far more than an apartment. It was incomprehensible. She swallowed hard, but carefully pinched the key with a napkin and stood. "A word. Outside."

He didn't shift an inch. "You wouldn't do me the one favor of an answer?"

Sarah immediately recognized the call back to her morning ask and pursed her lips. He was crafty; she'd give him that. And she owed him nothing. But then again, he _had_ refrained from capitalizing on their shared accommodations. She could answer him here.

It wouldn't be the answer he was expecting, of course.

It had to be subtle. Almost meaningless. She sat again and focused on his eyes. This required no deception except to herself, but he had brought it on himself by using her family against her. It made it easier. "The same."

As she'd expected, his brow furrowed. "Beg pardon?"

"You asked me yesterday to tell you the same. I am."

The change was almost jarring. Widened eyed. Rod-still posture. But, with the briskness of a breeze, the shock was swept away by something as equally jarring: satisfaction. As if her finding the loophole had been the answer he'd _wanted._ He quirked one corner of his lips. "You're a few hours short."

She expected that, at least, despite his unnerving ease. "...Just like when we met." She heard him snort in response, obviously understanding the reference. But she knew her family had to be terribly confused. Just like her. There was no anger, no sense of disappointment. No flash of anguish at her once again besting him. Had he wanted to lose?

Had she even _won_?

"Indeed," he said after a long second, and he presented his open palm across the table. "Perhaps it was too sudden. After all, you still don't understand. And I have nothing but time."

Nothing but time? She eyed his palm, then the key in her napkin, and then his eyes again. Of _course_ , she didn't understand; he'd never explained any of what he was doing, and why he was doing it. After what she said, though, he shouldn't have time. He should be thwarted. He should be furious. Her family was still staring, enraptured, and she knew it might raise questions she couldn't answer, but she asked anyway. "What don't I understand?"

He considered her with strange intensity for a moment. Then, he pulled back his hand and the expression turned wistful when she still grasped the key in her napkin. "That I couldn't tell you the same." When Sarah just stared, he nodded at the key. "Keep it. You know where to find me."

Sarah watched then as he stood, offering pleasantries to her father, brother, and stepmother. She vaguely heard an acceptance. She knew her brother had asked him to stay. But she saw him shake his head and check his watch, and then glance her way with his unique confidence and she _knew_ she hadn't seen the last of him. But how and why those things were true, she couldn't say. She'd missed another loophole. Something else, too.

_You know where to find me._ He expected her to come. Wanted her to come?

She heard the door just as clearly as the night before, but now, the glances of her family were more confused than judging. She sighed, knowing she had to say something to make sense of the strange back-and-forth they'd seen. Metaphors and missed hours weren't easily explained. "I know a lot of that didn't make sense..."

"He seemed pretty clear to me."

Sarah frowned slightly at her stepmother but continued. "It wasn't just a key to his apartment."

"Oh," Karen sighed, "you did understand the metaphor then."

"...uh. Yes?" She did. Karen couldn't. Unless he'd told her he was a king? It had been foolish to not work Karen and her father into last night's bargain. But Karen just shook her head, and there was something secreted in her smile that told Sarah she knew more than she'd told.

"It's alright, dear," Karen said, leaning over and patting her on the shoulder. "He told me you might not understand at first. He's assured me he wouldn't be offended."

Wouldn't be _offended_? Obviously not, given his parting glance and words. She, however, was slightly so. He'd explained something to Karen instead of her, and her stepmother didn't seem anxious to fill her in. She glanced at the key, tracing the small stamped insignia with her thumb.

"You'll figure it out. If not, there's always Christmas."

Sarah snapped her eyes up. "...Christmas?"

Karen nodded. "He seemed concerned he'd be a bother, but I assured him he was welcome."

_He seemed concerned he'd be a bother._ And there it was: the reason he'd shown no fury. Because Hoggle had told her he was good with loopholes. She should have expected that if she'd found one, he'd found one to cancel it out.

Because if he wasn't a bother, it didn't matter if he'd promised to "never bother her again."

Oh, he was _good._ Impressively so. And despite her loss, that didn't bother _her_ as much as it should. She'd see him again. He'd done her family no obvious harm. She'd figure him out.

And even he knew she wanted to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Much love to all readers and reviewers! I hope this holiday met every expectation, and that all my US readers had a Happy Thanksgiving. I can't tell you how pleased I was to discover that shin-kicking is an actual sport, created in England. It was too perfect not to use.


	4. Yule

Sarah didn't end up sampling the pumpkin pie. The one bite of peach had been enough to ward her off pie for the foreseeable future. She wished her family felt the same. She'd experienced no hallucinations or blips of fatigue from the bite, but it seemed unlikely that the pie hadn't been spiked with _something_. The wine from yesterday, too. But here they were, licking peachy pastry bits off their forks with vigor.

Sarah absently thumbed the insignia on the key as she watched them finish. "You feel…alright?"

Toby looked at her like she'd asked whether he wanted to sunbathe in a snowstorm. "Uh-hunh." He put down his spotless fork, jutting his chin towards her pie-filled plate. "It was for you, yuh know."

"I know," she replied slowly, still watching her family cautiously. She still felt nothing peculiar. A delayed reaction, maybe? She shook her head, standing. "I'll help you clean up."

Karen waved her off. "Don't worry about it, dear. Someone"—a sharp glance at Toby—"has been shirking his chores." Toby at least looked slightly abashed. "Feel free to relax."

She didn't need to be told twice. In truth, she wasn't at all exhausted. Which seemed strange, given her two-day struggle with Jareth and her less than optimal sleeping arrangement. She'd had to keep sharp on her toes to parry off his verbal and physical scheming, and besides that damn pie, she felt pretty sure she'd scraped through the two days without her family burgeoning any suspicions about Jareth's otherworldliness. But she needed to breathe. She needed some time away from her family. And as seemed perpetual now, she needed to plan.

Christmas. At her parents' house. Images of an even _more_ exuberant (and expectant) stepmother, mistletoe, and suggestive gift-giving flashed quickly through her head. It was a concerning prospect. Karen's Thanksgivings were impressive; her dedication to Christmas, however, was masterful. She could obviously "break up" with Jareth between now and then, but she was confident that wouldn't stop him from barging in at Christmastime. Or given his win, whenever he felt like it. And he _definitely_ seemed unlikely to keep away from Toby. No, she'd see him again, but on her own terms. If it was revenge, there had to be some way to settle whatever debt he felt he was owed without this continuing attachment to her life. She was sharp enough to beat him at fifteen; she'd figure out a way to do it now.

She pushed open her bedroom door with a small shriek and then quickly shut it behind her. "What are you two doing here?"

The small fox at the foot of her bed furrowed bushy brows. "Thou'st called us, my lady. His Majesty kept us from answering till now, but we shall always come when you need us."

"Sarah call," Ludo chimed in, giving her a toothy smile.

Despite the surprise, Sarah returned his grin but gestured for them both to keep their voices quiet. She did, however, have a few questions. Hoggle intonated that Didymus hadn't been sidelined by Jareth; he might have answers. She ushered them away from the door and towards the vanity. "My family is home, but there is something I need help with. Jareth has been here."

Didymus - to her immense concern - brightened immediately. "Splendid!"

She frowned at him and Didymus' face fell slightly. " _Not_ splendid; it's a problem. He's charmed my family and has all-but promised to keep up his scheming."

"Scheming, my lady?"

She hesitated, but only briefly. The basics would suffice. "He's pretending to be my boyfriend. My family thinks he's invited me to move in." She held up the key pointedly. "Which is ridiculous. But he's definitely up to something. Hoggle didn't tell me what, but he said Jareth's been speaking with you? Do you know his endgame? How long he plans on revenge?"

Didymus had been eying the key with noticeable interest but at the last question, he straightened and glanced her way, pounding his tiny spear into the carpet twice. "I say! If the king hath harmed you, I will fight him to the death!"

She shushed him again. " _Easy_. No, he hasn't harmed me. It doesn't seem to be that sort of revenge." He'd had plenty of opportunities - especially last night - but it wasn't obvious he'd used any magic on her. "He's just...inserted himself into my life. Won over my family." Won over her hormones, too. But that was not something Didymus needed to know. "It's the weirdest revenge plot I've ever heard of."

"Plot _bad_."

Sarah laughed. "Yes, Ludo. It's a terrible plot. But it's working. Toby thinks he's 'cool'" - she air-quoted here - "and my stepmother is likely already planning the wedding. I'll never hear the end of it now, even when I figure out how to keep him away. So, do you know what he wants? How to end this?"

Somewhere between her questions, Didymus had returned to staring at the key and the little pit in her stomach widened. The feeling that she'd made yet _another_ mistake caused the hairs at the back of her neck to stand tall. "...What is it?"

He at least seemed content to answer. He gestured for the key. "May I?" After Sarah quickly dropped it into his hand, he jumped slightly and then held it up to his one good eye, squinting. Then, nodding. And then - _again_ to Sarah's immense concern - he brightened and dropped into a kneel. "Your Majesty."

_Oh. Fuck._

" _Excuse_ me?" She was sure the shake in her voice was there, but it was shaded by a wave of anger. "I am nobody's _Majesty."_

"Sarah Majesty?"

She spun to gape at Ludo who was struggling into his own kneeling position. She grabbed his arm to keep him upright. "No!"

At her outburst, Didymus tilted his head slightly, causing the little feather in his cap to bob into his face. He blew at it before speaking. "But you hath accepted his symbol-"

"I did _not_."

"-and 'tis clear the key is more than it appears."

She groaned. "Not you too. I know it's a metaphor. But I didn't accept it. I just...have it. He left before I could give it back. He stuck it in my pie." He'd asked for an answer. She'd absolutely not said 'yes'. There was no way he could have tricked her into a _queendom_ without her consent...could he? She pressed Didymus' palm closed around the key and pushed it towards his chest. "You need to take it back. Tell him I absolutely refuse. _Refused_. Denied. Rejected. Got it? I. do. not. accept." She knew she was panicking now, throwing out a ramble of negatives and causing Didymus to jump again.

He hesitated, and Sarah knew without a word then he wouldn't do it. "'Tis not my place..." He trailed off and gave her an apologetic glance. "But if you truly hath not accepted it, you can return his sigil."

Her pulse slowed a bit at that news. There was just one problem. "I'm not wishing anyone away."

Didymus shook his head and waved her towards her vanity mirror. "Fear not! You need not wish."

"What do I do, then?" she asked, staring at her reflection. "Can I just call him..." but she trailed off before the 'as I do you'. She wasn't particularly keen on connecting the phrase "I need you" to Jareth. That seemed destined for disaster. But Didymus was shaking his head and the merry smile had returned despite Sarah's hesitation as he pointed at the mirror.

"The sigil brings safe passage. You can come and go at will."

 _You know where to find me._ She frowned. Of course, he expected her to come; he'd given her the _key_ to do so. More damned metaphors. Returning to the Labyrinth was another thing she'd thought would never happen. But at the moment, it seemed the lesser of evils. She needed to make clear she was _not_ accepting any offer that included a kingdom, and she didn't trust Jareth not to twist her call that she "needed him" into something far more. Especially given her present sigil predicament. Didymus was holding out the key with the paw not pointing to the mirror, so she took it again. She made to stuff it into her pants pocket when she heard Didymus clear his throat.

"Be cautious with it, my lady. Have you a chain?"

A chain? That _would_ ensure it didn't accidentally slip out of her pocket, she conceded. She needed to get it back to Jareth. Frowning again, she popped open the lid on her jewelry box, slid the key onto one of her delicate silver necklaces, and slipped it over her head and underneath her sweater. The metal thrummed an unnatural warmth against her chest, which she assumed was whatever enchantment that would allow her to enter the Labyrinth. When she looked back at the mirror, her reflection was gone.

She reached for the image of the castle but found no glass.

* * *

It had been smoother than she'd expected.

Although, as Jareth had noted, she'd hardly noticed the trip ten years back either. One moment, she had been staring out her window at the Goblin King's domain; the next, she'd found her feet firmly planted on its glittering terrain. Crossing dimensions or worlds or whatever continuum separated the Labyrinth from New York was far easier than air travel. No rehearsed and laminated warnings or sporadic dips in altitude. No sudden and prolonged loss of cabin pressure. Which, in her opinion, was an _excellent_ reason why she no longer enjoyed airplanes, despite Karen's comments. No, gliding through mirrors was a much-preferred mode of transport.

She just would have preferred it not only lead her _here._ Such was her luck.

The castle wasn't exactly as she remembered. Then again, it had been so long ago, and she'd been so young, and she'd really only been focused on finding Toby instead of admiring the towering bastions and wide expanse of sandy stone walls. But the greenery had to be new. She was confident she would have recalled the wild mess of vines up the outer walls, the patches of shrubbery at its gates. Strange, thorned flowers with striped petals in varying shades of dawn. Hardly manicured, but plainly _thriving_. She furrowed her brow as she walked towards an ornate door bearing a single, looping insignia.

She was positive that was also new.

But, while the scenery was striking, she didn't have long to contemplate the greenery or gilded door. Get in. Return the key. Get out. She'd spent enough of her Thanksgiving with him already. As she approached, the door creaked open with little more than a huff from Sarah.

For Jareth being Goblin King, she noted there was a distinct lack of goblins as she made her way through the entranceway and up a circular staircase. And despite her quip, nary a chicken to be seen as she found her way - surprisingly easily - to the throne room. It too seemed decidedly changed, lacking the mismatch of hay, grimy cloth, and broken armory. The throne retained its horned armrests but the slab of stone had been covered with a tufted, white cushion. As before, however, it was vacant of goblins. Or Jareth.

She eyed the empty throne with a scowl. Of course, it would have been too easy to simply walk into his throne room and drop off the key with an emphatic _hell no._ She had no idea where else he might be, and without even a goblin to ask, traipsing blindly through his castle seemed more likely to find her lost than find the king. So, she did what any rational person would do: she yelled.

"JARETH!" A long moment of nothing. "GOBLIN KING!" But still, more silence. "Damnit, Jareth. So help me, if you don't get in here, I'll...I'll..."

"Do tell, Sarah-mine," he drawled from behind. She spun to find him leaning against the doorway from where she'd entered, head cocked. The perpetual grin had returned with a vengeance. "Couldn't stay away?"

She growled and pulled the thin chain out from under her sweater and over her head. Without blinking, she tossed the key towards him where it fell with a resplendent clang. "You know exactly why I'm here. But if I didn't make myself clear, the answer to your offer is _no_."

He snorted. "That much I understood, precious thing."

She stumbled, but then breathed out a long breath and relaxed her posture. He'd understood. He'd not tricked her into a queendom. Still, he was crafty as hell. "Just like you understood how not to be a bother?"

His lips twitched. "I did tell you repeatedly I would win."

"Win _what_? What do you _want_?"

He considered her quietly, leaving Sarah with deja vu of the long moment in her bedroom when he'd seemed on the cusp of explanation. Here in his element, however, the explanation followed. "We are very much alike, you know."

She rolled her eyes. "We're _nothing_ alike. You're not even human."

He snorted gracefully again. "Semantics. But that's hardly what I meant. I had suspected as much from your last visit here, but after several days, you've proven it." At her blank stare, he pushed off the doorway and strode towards her. "You are determined. Clever. Crafty. Protective of those you love, and adamant to do so at any cost." He leaned to whisper against her ear. " _Passionate_." But he pulled back, walking behind her and up the dais where he fell gracefully into his throne. Her eyes followed him silently, though her pulse was screaming. "Stubborn, too, I'm afraid," he said, almost wistful. "But we can't be perfect."

Sarah couldn't help but swallow. "What does that have to do with what you want? With the bargain?"

" _That_ , Sarah, is why I won the moment you agreed to the bargain. Before your plotting and before" - he smirked - "I was deemed to not be a bother. Because even if you refuse to admit it, I wish for the same thing."

Sarah stilled.

_I think you wish to know me._

No. It was preposterous. Jareth, the Goblin King, wishing to _know_ her? She was nobody important. Magicless. She'd _beaten_ him. "Why?"

"Do you think yourself not worth knowing?"

" _No_ , but...I beat you."

"And now we're even."

 _Even?_ "I'm _human_."

He raised an eyebrow. "As I mentioned; semantics."

He was unbelievable. He plainly didn't see anything wrong with the situation, species aside. Frustration quickly overtook confusion and she threw up her arms. "If that's all this was, why didn't you just _say_ that? Why make it all a competition? Why spend so much effort buttering up my family?"

"Beg pardon. _Buttering_?"

The edges of his lips twitched as he posed the question and Sarah opened her mouth to clarify that she'd _not_ meant he was preparing to eat them, but the glimmer in the king's eyes stopped her. He was teasing. Again.

When she ended up just staring, mouth still slightly agape, he continued. "I was under the impression that guests, particularly those spending time over your mortal holidays, were expected to be polite. Gregarious, even. Was I mistaken?"

He knew he wasn't; the smirk hadn't budged. She didn't dignify his question with an answer. Still..." _Mortal_ holidays?" He just flashed a pointy smile. Sarah decided she'd rather not know. Something shifted, however, in the silence.

"Tell me, Sarah, would you have believed me without the pretense of a bargain? Would you have agreed if you didn't believe you were fighting for your brother?"

 _No._ "...maybe." As he raised another brow, she frowned. "That's not the point. You were never truthful with me. How can I even trust what you're saying now?"

"I, unlike you, have never outright lied." When she just held her frown, he settled his head against a palm and waved her on with his other hand. "Go on. Tell me where I have."

She knew what lie he was referencing with her. She'd been foolish to think she could hide her body's response to him. But him? There had to be innumerable statements in which he'd mislead her. Things she couldn't quite remember. Had he ever stated he'd wanted revenge? He'd been cagey with details around her stepmother...

"You're not my boyfriend."

"It was you who called me your friend. I'm assuredly not a girl," he drawled.

 _Technically_ true, she conceded. Damn semantics. "There wasn't a cruise."

He laughed. "No, but I'm afraid that was your ruse Sarah-mine. I merely followed your lead. The same rules don't apply when you've already broken the truth."

A questionable answer, at best. But, alright, _yes;_ it had been her ruse. "Shin-kicking?"

"A real sport, I assure you. Although I've struggled to teach the goblins proper technique. A project for your spare time, perhaps."

She ignored the last. It was hard to tell from his grin if he was at all serious. "And if I ask you a question now, you'll tell me the truth?"

He pulled his head from his palm and sat up straight in his throne, appearing somewhat startled by her change in tactic. But then, he stood and moved from his perch back towards her place in front of the throne. "Will you?"

"...Will I what?" She knew better than to answer any of his questions blindly. Particularly when his last one had been an offer of a _kingdom._

"Tell the truth."

She considered him for a minute - his expression was unreadable - and then, slowly, "that depends on the question."

Pointed canines flashed. "Then I stand by my earlier assessment."

Clever. Crafty. _Passionate_. She cleared her throat, looking away briefly from the delight in his eyes. "Right. Well, as I said, the answer is _no._ I'm going home."

"Really," he chuckled, and Sarah turned back to frown at him. But as she watched him pick up the shining key on the floor with a raised brow, she realized the giant, mirror-sized hole in her plan: without the insignia, she couldn't 'come and go at will'. Jareth had to agree to send her back. And with his smirk, the feeling that such a favor wouldn't come without a price was creeping up her spine like the vines on his castle walls.

_Damn._

She rubbed at her eyes. She had a suspicion of what he wanted now, given his parting words to Karen. He wanted to _know_ her. He wanted to know her family? "Does it really have to be Christmas? At my parents' house?"

"Would you prefer to spend Yule elsewhere? One of your stepmother's suggested secluded and romantic destinations, perhaps?"

She choked, then frowned. " _No._ Neutral ground. And nowhere alone."

He was silent for a moment, but then he offered her a gloved hand. "Given our differing realms, I am unfamiliar with any ground that might be considered _neutral_ , but I'm willing to split the difference." When she just stared at the proferred hand, arms crossed, he chuckled again. "Yule in my realm; Christmas in yours. Another fitting bargain of two."

It was better than she expected, really. He hadn't even mentioned the dreaded New Years'; Karen's midnight proposal hinting would be rightly thwarted. "Two days. One in the Underground and one at home?"

"Precisely."

"And you send me home now? No kingdom attached? No loophole that snatches me or my family to the Underground without our consent?"

He snorted gracefully. "Snatch you?"

"I'm serious, Jareth."

"Yes to all the above: I will return you now, sans kingdom, and with no intent to, as you say, _snatch_ you without your consent."

As before, she ran his comments back, now knowing she had to be extra careful with loopholes. This time, however, she knew she _had_ to make a bargain with him. She knew of no other way home unless she took back the key. Which was a nonstarter. Two days. One at home and one here...she looked up. "No reordering time?"

"I assure you, there will be no need," he drawled. Sarah narrowed her eyes, and at that, he rolled his own. " _No._ And before you ask it, I promise that no sort of harm will befall you while you are here. So," and he presented her the choice of his open hand and the hand grasping the key, "do we have a deal?"

They did.

Of course, he still found the loopholes. He always did.

* * *

Yule. In the Underground _._ With _Jareth_. It was hard enough to imagine what he might have planned without her having to come up with an explanation for her stepmother of why she wasn't bringing her 'boyfriend' over for more than one day during the Christmas holidays.

But come up with something, she did.

"He's planned something," Sarah said, switching hands on the phone. "And before you ask, _no;_ it's not a cruise. He wants to show me his hometown. But we'll be there for Christmas." Karen already believed Jareth's hometown was an ocean away; planes could only fly so fast.

"Oh! How wonderful. Will you make it back by Christmas Eve?"

Sarah hesitated. Christmas Eve tended to include Christmas movie marathons, an afternoon church service, yet _another_ feast, and everyone opening one gift. Harmless activities for a normal family, but at least with Thanksgiving, none of the plans required leaving the house. Letting Jareth loose at St. Joseph's Catholic Church - when she had _no_ idea what he might do or say - sounded like a terrible idea. "Maybe. But it would be late. Definitely after church."

"Perfect! We'll wait up for you, then. See you on Christmas Eve!" And before Sarah could even repeat that she'd said _maybe_ , Karen hung up.

Sarah returned the phone to the holster with a sigh. She should have known better than to give Karen an inch of leeway, after her less than subtle scheming at Thanksgiving. Still, she'd made no such deal with Jareth; he was getting _exactly_ one day at her parents' house. If he wanted to start it on Christmas Eve - after church, of course - so be it.

That still left the thorny issue of the day in the Underground. Jareth had explained that Yule actually lasted twelve days (because _of course,_ it did), so she was very glad she'd specifically confirmed their deal included one day and one day _only_. He'd chosen December 21: the day of the December solstice and the start of Yule festivities. He'd not, however, explained anything about what those included. And before she could ask, she'd found herself staring at her reflection in her vanity mirror.

Her local library in Middlebury had been of some help. She knew the holiday had pagan roots. It was a celebration of nature and life, of new beginnings and the new sun after the longest night of winter. So, she expected some sort of celebration. Likely outdoors. Perhaps with rituals? Offerings? A feast was guaranteed. The books she read spanned a wide range of possibilities and _none_ of them obviously included a snapshot of how the Fae celebrated Yule. The only thing he'd suggested was that solely guests at _mortal_ holidays were expected to be polite. Which was fine by her; if something questionable took place, she'd damn well let him know she wasn't having any part of it. And he'd get another heel somewhere. No promises that it'd be his foot.

December passed quickly. After several rounds of edits, she was finally satisfied with her manuscript. She still hadn't gotten a bite from a publishing company, but she'd expected that. People were picky, but she was persistent. She had dozens more to try. As she packaged up another copy, however, there was a hard knock on her front door and she sighed. With the numerous returned copies, the knocks had been frustratingly frequent.

"Hi, Walter-oh!"

Because of course, it _wasn't_ her friendly mailman Walter, but a tall, grayish... _something_ disguised as a man in a floppy hat, sunglasses, and a trenchcoat. And he was holding a shining silver box. Sarah resisted the urge to slam the door when she heard familiar giggling under the coat. _Dear God_. Goblins. In Middlebury.

"Here, lady!" Knobby little hands thrust the box towards Sarah and she took it, looking once out into the - thankfully - vacant hallway and then gesturing for the trenchcoated mass to enter. "Get inside," she hissed quietly.

The mass obliged.

Goblins had never been part of the bargain. Then again, she'd never said they _weren't_. Sarah turned to the trenchcoated goblin mass with a sigh after she placed the long, silver box on her side table. "Alright, you all can lose the coat."

On cue, a bulbous nose parted the coat at what should have been the figure's stomach, and in another instant, the coat fell away completely to reveal three grayish-brown goblins, stacked haphazardly on top of each other and replete with pieces of the spiky, dented armor that had been missing from the throne room. She sighed again and plucked the sunglasses and floppy hat off the top one. "What are you doing here?"

"King sent us!" the top one squeaked. The bottom one nodded fervently in response, shaking the entire goblin tower.

Sarah rolled her eyes and lifted the top goblin off before the entire mass collapsed into a heap on her floor. Jareth would undoubtedly hold her accountable for any injuries to his subjects, deserved or not. "I figured that much. _Why_ did he send you? There are tons of people in this building who aren't accustomed to goblins. Someone could have seen you."

The bottom goblin squatted down and shoved his horned companion off his shoulders with a huff. "Gift for lady. King says he not 'lowed to see you til Yule."

Well. He was sticking to their bargain, at least. Yule wasn't until tomorrow. Sarah eyed the box suspiciously. "What is it?" The trio looked at each other blankly. The middle one scratched at his nose, then, _in_ it and Sarah sighed as they all shrugged. It figured. "You don't know." Simultaneous, if not enthusiastic, nodding then. Still, because she highly doubted that Jareth would harm her now after all he'd said and planned, she rolled her eyes again and went to lift the shining lid off the box.

She'd expected another crystal. Maybe a mocking box of peaches or keys. Not a dress. And especially not a dress like _this_. It was deep emerald, laced with thin, silver threads that crossed across the bodice. An intricate emblem vaguely reminiscent of entwined branches - also spun from silver - rested just below the boat neckline. It was folded, but when she pulled out the piece - _silk_ , she realized immediately - she could see the silver embellishments twined round the long belled sleeves that ended in cuffs of silvery-white fur. When she flipped it around, she realized with some joy that it had a matching, fur-lined hood. And, most importantly, _pockets_. Beautiful, warm, and practicable. Crafty or not, Jareth had excellent taste.

"This is for me?" she asked. It was a stupid question, but the gift was so unexpected that she felt obligated to confirm they'd not stolen the dress from someone else's closet. She frowned. Which, actually, given the little she knew about Jareth, was still possible. The sudden and distinctive crinkle of paper, however, was a more pressing issue.

"Hey! Stop that!" She leaped to snatch the page crunched between the nose-picker's protruding teeth. "That's my book!"

"Books tasty!"

She rolled her eyes for what seemed the umpteenth time, positioning herself between them and her kitchen table piled with copies. "Not _this_ book. I wrote this one. Ask the Goblin King for a snack."

Their disappointment was palpable. Sarah held up the dress again, now even less trusting of the trio. "You didn't steal this, right?"

"King made 'specially for you!"

Oh. Well. Definitely not snatched from a closet, then. Sarah thumbed the silver emblem on the dress with furrowed brows. Was this supposed to be his Christmas gift to her? She'd obviously gotten him nothing for Yule, but she'd found a suitably mundane pair of brown leather gloves in one of the local shops that she'd wrapped for the fa _ç_ ade that would be their "first Christmas." Karen would have words if Sarah claimed they'd already exchanged gifts.

"Uh...tell him thank you, then. It's beautiful. I assume I'm supposed to wear this tomorrow?" Another stupid question; the trio hadn't even known what was in the box. The middle one answered with another nose scratch. The two others poked him in the side as if he held the answer. _Good grief._ "Right. Well...how do I send you guys home?"

"King come ta-morrow!"

Oh no. Oh _hell_ no. Gift-bearing or not, she was not babysitting three of his subjects for a day. She had packages to ship. Last-minute shopping to do. She clenched her teeth. And then, she remembered. It seemed too simple, but..."do any of you have anything with the Goblin King's insignia?" Three blank - but, really to be expected - stares. She rubbed at a temple. _Good God._ What had she read about goblins? "His symbol. On his pendant? His...shiny necklace?"

"Ooooh. His shiny-shiny!" The nose-picker shouted, and his two companions nodded enthusiastically. Sarah dropped her hand, expectant.

"Well? Do you have it?" she asked when they just continued nodding.

"Have what?"

Sarah groaned. Enthusiastic, but useless; the whole lot of them. Still, there was something nagging at the back of her mind that told her this was yet _another_ battle of wits. If Jareth really wanted to "know her" and not drive her mad before Christmas, it made no sense for him to attach his gift to unreturnable minions. Plus, they all had traversed pretty easily to her bedroom and back ten years ago. The goblins were all decked out in mismatched bits of armor: three pairs of spiked shoulder guards, two dented breastplates, and one horned helmet.

 _And a partridge in a pear tree._ She waved over the goblin with the helmet, staring hard, then spinning him around. And _finally_ , her expectations were met: a small insignia had been stamped at the back lip of the helmet. She grinned. "You're going home _now._ "

And they did. Albeit not without some complaining that they were hungry. And tired. And bored. And scared of mirrors. She suspected Jareth had a part in that last one. But, she hoisted the squirming trio into the image of the Goblin City with a satisfied smile and a dramatic swipe of palms. Now, she just needed to prepare for Yule.

And Jareth.

* * *

The dress fit perfectly, of course.

She'd at this point expected nothing less. Everything Jareth had done since his return had been expertly planned and meticulously executed. His careful wording, his charming of her family, his lips...she shook herself. That was dangerous territory. Despite his gift and his admissions, she still had reason to distrust him. But, she'd be on her guard and he had _clearly_ promised one day in the Underground and had given her implicit permission to be rude, if needed. She would survive whatever chaos the Fae holiday entailed.

She did. Although, "chaos" had not been the right word.

Though she'd closed the windows, she felt the whip of wind before she heard him. "I half-expected you to return this gift, too," he said drolly.

She turned to him, as prepared as she'd ever be for his quips. And because of that, she was only half-distracted by the matching emerald jacket with shining, silver embroidery. Long legs encased in skin-tight, black leggings, and polished leather boots. The spark in his eyes kindled something deep in the pit of her stomach. She forced an eyebrow up as he smirked. "A kingdom isn't a gift."

He snorted. "On that, we are in agreement." And then, his smirk widened. "My goblins were disappointed you remembered."

Oh. _That_ 'gift'. "You don't seem disappointed."

"No."

Sarah swallowed. He wasn't grinning anymore, and his eyes had done dark. Yule. In the Underground. Where he'd promised they'd not be _alone_. She cleared her throat. "Well, are we leaving?"

He offered her his arm and she took it, sending a silent prayer that _whatever_ he had in store would be as harmless as he'd intonated. And with barely a twitch of fingers, her apartment melted away in puddles of brown and beige, and snaps and strings and a roaring thrum that paralleled the one in her veins overpowered her senses.

They were outside. And it was decidedly winter here, too. The scents of smoke and pine and burning spice and something indescribable that had to be _magic_ filled the air. Strands of Sarah's hair whipped across her face as she turned to place her surroundings, pulling up her hood. This was not the Labyrinth. Or if it was, it was no part she'd ever seen. Snow-covered hills and frosted greenery encircled them for miles. Tall, spruce trees pricked with flittering starlight that, when she looked again, actually _danced_ back and forth amidst the boughs of the trees. Up some ways ahead, the faint sparks of a bonfire crackled against the wind and as they walked closer, melodic voices joined the sound of strings. It was so picturesque that it seemed plucked from a dream. And it _must_ have been freezing, but the bite of chill never came.

"Where are we?"

He snorted gracefully. "The Underground."

"Obviously," she retorted, rolling her eyes. "But _where_? Is this in the Labyrinth? I never saw anything like this when I was here before."

"There are many things you didn't see, these lands included."

She pursed her lips but followed his lead towards the rising music. That was deceptively vague, at best. As per usual. She suspected it not to be in the Labyrinth, however, just based on his failure to claim ownership over the place. Which, despite her meager time with him, she was pretty sure his arrogance would have required.

"I'm surprised it's not at all cold." She turned her face up towards him, furrowing her brow. "Is that some weird Underground thing with snow?"

He glanced down his shoulder with a smirk, and then pulled back her hood to whisper hot against her ear. " _That_ would be the dress. I suspected you'd be displeased to leave the festivities early on account of frostbite."

Oh. The dress. Of _course_ , he'd enchanted the dress. But as she turned back towards the music, now blaring, she decided she didn't at all mind.

The books appeared to have been mostly correct. A bonfire. Long wooden tables bearing garlands of holly and green thistle, and covered in platters piled high with brightly colored fruits, cheeses, and smoking meats. Singing and laughter. Strumming. And dancing, though the dancers flittered like wisps of wind, boneless and inhuman. Some, long and lean with features similar to Jareth; others, less so, with silvered skin or cloven hooves or no feet at all, but just a spark of wings.

Instead of leading them towards the dancing masses, Jareth nudged her towards a table to her right. A fair-haired duo was seated alone at the center, whispering inwards. Jareth inclined his head steps away. "Father. Mother. May I present Sarah Williams of the Aboveground. My guest for the Yuletide."

 _Oh God._ Sarah's grip instantly became vice-like. His _parents_? Not that she wasn't curious, but she'd done _nothing_ to prepare to meet anyone related to Jareth, and especially not his _parents_. They were obviously royalty, though instead of sickle-shaped amulets, the pair wore fine, gilded crowns weaved in an elegant pattern of loops and points. Hers, much smaller and lined with small, pale blue stones, but equally resplendent to the crown bearing darker blue stones on Jareth's father. Did they even know who she was? That she'd beaten their son? That they were in the midst of several, carefully negotiated, bargains?

"Lady Sarah," the woman spoke first, smiling. "We wondered when we'd have the opportunity to meet you."

That answered the first: they knew _of_ her, at least. She thought quickly. Rudeness didn't seem at all the right course of action. "Your...Majesties. I apologize; Jareth didn't mention I'd be meeting his parents."

Jareth's mother waved a hand in a manner eerily reminiscent of her stepmother, but the twitch of lips was all Jareth. "No apology needed, my dear. And you may call me Leana. This is my husband, Oren. Any companion of Jareth's has undoubtedly earned that right."

She side-eyed Jareth, but he hadn't so much as flinched at his mother's comment, so she just mirrored Jareth's earlier head inclination. She'd speak with him later. "Ah...Leana. Oren. A pleasure to meet you." At that, the pair just smiled and Sarah felt the nudge again, this time away from his parents' table and in the direction of the one piled with the feast.

She didn't wait to get there. " _What was_ that?" she hissed up at his ear.

She heard his low laugh over the din of the festivities. "I had the pleasure of meeting your parents; it seemed fair to allow you the same courtesy. Were you not curious?"

_I think you wish to know me._

"Well...sure, yes, but a little warning would have been nice. A king and queen, I assume?"

A snort. "Of a sort."

"Of a _sort_?"

They reached the table and Jareth handed her a small silver plate before helping himself to bits of fruits, bread, and cheese."You will likely hear them referred to as High King and Queen at some point this evening. While some impropriety is tolerated at these events, I suggest you do your best to refrain from calling them Leana and Oren in other company."

He'd said it so cavalierly that Sarah assumed he was teasing her again. _High_ King and Queen? She knew her fairytales. Damn it, she'd written a fifty-page thesis on one. "You can't be serious."

"As serious as our bargain. But you have nothing to worry about. My mother already seems fond of you and I've also promised no harm will befall you here. Wine?"

" _What_?"

He turned towards her, holding out a goblet of amber liquid. "This is a celebration, Sarah. Enjoy yourself. As I just said, no harm will befall you here."

She looked hard but saw nothing hidden behind those words. No catch between the lines. So, and because it _had_ been part of his original bargain in the throne room, she took the goblet.

And she drank - and _G_ _od forbid -_ enjoyed herself.

* * *

Later - much, _much_ later - she would remember there had been singing. Some of it his: an ensnaring melody that had haunted her for a decade. Dancing, too. Blips of memories of one hand wrapped in his, the other tight on his waist, and the dress no longer the only reason she'd not been cold. Swaying back and forth and seeing nothing and everything all at once. Them, a single figure under falling snow and starlight. He'd tasted of wine and honeyed fruit; he'd smelled like clove and flame.

The wine kept flowing. She'd kept dancing. He'd never once let go.

When the bonfire dimmed late into the night (or was it early in the morning?) there'd been another blip. This one, the break from thrumming and spinning to watch the procession to an altar. More fire, sparking from a hollow log, and chanting that seemed endless. Restless, but _hopeful_. Something reminiscent of a prayer and a wish and in an instant, the flames were swallowed by the darkness.

It was there the memory ended, and the throbbing began.

Sarah winced. Dancing. Singing. Wine. _Far_ too much wine. She gingerly cracked open an eye and immediately regretted it. Too bright. Too early. And if her suspicions were correct, too _careless_. What the hell had she been _thinking_ to drink so much that she passed out? She should have known where he'd bring her.

Something poked at her side and she snapped her eyes open in a panic, glancing right, and then exhaling. _Not_ a fae bedmate.

"Lady dead?"

A wan smile at the familiar nose-picker. "Hungover."

"Here. This will ease your headache."

At that, she turned opposite to find Jareth seated by the bedside, holding out a small vial filled with a clear liquid. She groaned but took it and chugged it down without a second thought. Instantly, the throbbing dulled and she opened her eyes again to find him staring over her, twisting fingers, and she heard a distinct 'pop' to her right. Jareth looked then at her, amused.

"He was concerned you'd been poisoned."

She pushed herself up into a sitting position. "Yeah; by alcohol. What happened?"

"You fainted. Just how much wine did you drink?"

She pursed her lips. "Too much." She looked around then, taking in the expanse of his room. Dark wood. Black and silver linens. A wide, stone fireplace humming merrily. And her, tucked under silken sheets. She glanced up again. "Nothing...happened, right?" She was fully dressed, but still, she needed to make sure she'd not definitely done anything _that_ stupid. He was something to remember.

"Nothing that hasn't happened before," he said, grinning slightly. "How are you feeling now?"

"Much better," she sighed. And then, sincerely, "thank you."

He just nodded, looking at something behind her and jutting his chin towards it. "The day is nearly up. Shall I return you now?"

Oh. The bargain. Good lord, she knew he'd suggested she could be rude, but she'd gone and slept through half of his day. She winced again. "I'm sorry."

He raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

"For passing out. I...," and she swallowed, "I did enjoy the Yule celebration. A little _too_ much." Because she _did._ And she felt he deserved to know that. He'd done her no harm. There'd been dancing, singing. Unending food. Beautiful surroundings and an even more beautiful companion. Save for the glaring headache, she honestly couldn't say she'd have wished for more from a holiday.

She watched him carefully, throat dry despite the vial. Not _much_ more _,_ at least. But never after all the wine she'd drunk.

He chuckled, and the familiar slyness replaced confusion. "You can make it up to me on Christmas."

* * *

She knew now where it had all gone so disastrously wrong: she'd finally told him the truth.

Some of it, at least. But she'd admitted the rest to herself immediately after he'd returned her to her apartment. Then again, 'wrong' really wasn't the right word. Unexpected. Unplanned. She never intended to open herself to him and now, there truly was no turning back.

She didn't know him at all. And she wanted to, _unequivocally_ , and in more ways than one. It was obvious there was more to him than snatching children, manipulation, and deception. Oh, he assuredly _was_ those things, but that appeared to only scratch the surface of an enigma. His words continually echoed now: _we are very much alike, you know._ Her skepticism on that was ebbing.

_Crafty. Clever. Protective of those you love, and adamant to do so at any cost._

_Passionate._

The little pit in her stomach twisted and turned, though not unpleasantly. She stared at the wrapped box in her lap and suddenly decided the gift wouldn't do at all. He'd likely find the gloves acceptable, but she didn't think that's what he wanted. He'd really only asked her for one thing and it wasn't something that could be nestled between sheets of tissue paper. She closed her eyes.

_Tell me what you want, Sarah._

* * *

She spent the new few days restless and distracted. She managed to finish the last of her shopping, though admittedly, the gifts weren't her best effort. She figured Karen would at least understand her predicament. She'd be _thrilled._

Just as she had been when Sarah had confirmed they'd make it by Christmas Eve.

Prior to her departure from the Underground, Sarah had mentioned Karen's comments about Christmas Eve and Jareth hadn't hesitated to take her up on her offer to start his day that evening. Still after church, of course. But for an entirely different reason: her family was one thing, but there was something about him that she now wasn't willing to share with the congregation.

As they would be arriving together, supposedly having driven straight from the airport, Sarah told Jareth to arrive at noon. So, at precisely twelve o'clock on December twenty-fourth, the window-less wind whipped again. And _of course_ , not more than five seconds later, the phone rang.

*BRIIINNNNNGG*

Sarah jumped, tearing her eyes from Jareth to stare at the phone on her kitchen counter.

*BRIIINNNNNGG* *BRIIINNNNNGG* *BRIIINNNNNGG*

"Are you not going to answer it?"

Sarah glanced back. "I'm not supposed to be _home,_ remember? The machine will pick it up."

*BRIIINNNNNGG*

_Hi, you've reached Sarah Williams. I'm not available right now but leave a message at the beep and I'll call you back as soon as possible. Thanks! *BEEP*_

"Good afternoon, Ms. Williams. My name is Anne-Marie and I'm calling from Weiser Books-"

Sarah's eyes widened and she leaped for the phone. "Hello? Sarah speaking."

The woman on the line audibly exhaled. "Oh, _good_. I was worried we wouldn't be able to reach you at home. Holidays and all. Is now a good time?"

It was obviously _not._ In the seconds since she'd answered, Jareth had made himself at home on her living room couch, and - she winced - he was already flipping through a copy of her manuscript. She should have learned to keep her book away from _all_ denizens of the Labyrinth...

"Ms. Williams?"

Sarah snapped her attention back to the call. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I asked if you were at all available this afternoon? We realize it's very last minute, but we just had a cancellation and are interested in meeting with you about your book."

" _This_ afternoon?" She saw Jareth's head pull up from the pages, followed by the slow arch of a brow. Oh _damn_ , where had Weiser Books been headquartered? Was that one of the ones in New York City? "I'm sorry; you're in New York City, right?" She _might_ be able to detour through the city and still make it to her parents' tonight, if so.

"No, we're in Newburyport, Massachusetts. But you're in Middlebury, right? We're not far."

 _Damn._ Sarah rubbed at her eyes, sighing. "Yes, but I don't think I'll be able-" But the declination died in her throat when the phone suddenly vanished from her grasp.

"What time? Four? She'll be there." Another whish of fingers and the phone was snug tight in the counter holster. Jareth settled back against the couch and sent her a satisfied smile.

Sarah's mouth dropped. "What are you doing?"

"It was obviously important enough for you to forgo the pretense of not being home." He lifted the copy on his lap just slightly. "This would be the not-snack, I assume?"

The _what_? But then, she remembered her visitors. They'd obviously reported her stinginess with 'snacks'. "Yes, it's my book. I'm trying to get it published. But there's no way I'll be able to drive to Massachusetts to meet with them _and_ get to my parents' tonight." She'd made him a promise; that'd been their bargain.

"So don't drive."

"Excuse me?"

His lips twitched and he twisted one wrist to form a crystal. "There are benefits to knowing me, Sarah."

 _Magic._ He was...offering to take her to Massachusetts? Then to her parents'? That'd never been part of their deal. "...What's the catch?"

"No catch." And then, an amused smile. "No _additional_ one, at least. You've actually already agreed to it."

She was confident she had _not._ Unless she'd said or done something in the midst of her drunken state? But she _couldn't_ have predicted the phone call. She furrowed her brow. "...How?"

"It's Christmas Eve. This is also your home, is it not? I see no issue with spending my day at two of your homes. Especially to assist in something this important to you."

Sarah's eyes widened as she remembered, and she saw the truth in his words. Though this loophole was plainly for _her_.

_Two days. One in the Underground and one at home?_

_Precisely._

He stood then, still holding her manuscript, and the fa _ç_ ade of the not-Goblin King melted into his true self as he stepped towards her. Flowing, white peasant shirt. Tawny leather jacket and painted-on gray breeches. "Although, unless you'd like me to call for a few subjects, for the next few hours, we would be alone." Another step, and a knowing whisper; all clove and flame. "Is that a problem?"

_Tell me what you want, Sarah._

There were no words. But she told him all the same.

The manuscript thudded on the floor as she pulled his lips to hers, and the blips of memory paled in comparison. Thin, pliant lips that memorized every press of her own; a burning swipe of tongue, parting and claiming. His hands at her neck, on her cheek, then her hip and back; molding her to heat and leather. One of hers, tangled through his hair, grasping, as she felt that heat deep inside hiss and thrum. Closer still, but not nearly close enough. She growled against his lips when the button holding his jacket closed stuck and she felt the rumble in his chest. But, he knew _-_ he _always_ knew - and he pulled back just slightly and guided her hand back again. She pushed the jacket off, claiming his lips again and curling her fingers into soft silk. Then, sliding across skin, and she heard him groan - the most pleasing sound she'd ever heard, she decided then and there - when her hand moved lower until she brushed against his length.

He must have lost it then, because his hands were at her hips, feverishly pulling the hem of her shirt from her jeans, and he backed her up against the wall with a pronounced _thump_. And he growled too when Sarah didn't move fast enough.

"Not" - a frantic press of lips - "here. _Windows_."

" _Damn the windows."_

She silenced his frustration with another kiss, and pushed him back, then sideways, until her back found air and she could pull him backwards down the narrow hallway. Back until her calves found wood and she fell onto quilting. He hovered over her for a moment, breathing ragged and wanting, and though the room was shadowed by semi-opaque curtains, she saw him clearly. Her Goblin King; her greatest and most wondrous mistake.

And she knew then she would never see enough.

" _You_ ," she forced out, almost pained. "I want _you_."

His smile was feral and victorious, but so was hers, and he closed the space again, twisting fingers instead of pulling at clothes. And then she was lost. Hot kisses down her neck, his tongue tracing between the curve of her breasts, and she arched when he took one peak into his mouth. She heard herself moan as her fingers grasped again at his hair and liquid heat pooled at her apex. So hot; she was _burning_. His mouth moved to claim the other at the same time his fingers moved lower, tracing the skin just above her waistband. _Fuck;_ why was she still in _pants_?

She moaned again, reaching down to try and catch the button, but that must have been enough of a tell for him because suddenly, her legs were bare, and his hands moved again. One, then two fingers, testing, and Sarah swore she _screamed_ when he stroked her, but it was all for _him_ , and it was a glorious sort of pain.

"Gods, _Jareth,"_ she cried.

He pulled back, chuckling lowly. "Yes, Sarah-mine?"

" _Fuck me_."

"With _pleasure._ "

* * *

Even with Jareth's magic, she'd barely made it to her meeting.

But she was all smiles as she made her way out of Weiser Books. It was hard to decide which recent victory, however, was the biggest catalyst.

"So?"

She grinned wider at the king leaning against her car and held up a check. "They want to publish it. They said we can finalize all the details after the new year."

"My congratulations," he said sincerely. And then, wryly, "what shall we do to celebrate?"

She laughed. "We're already running late." She glanced at her watch. "They said they would wait up, but I'm sure Toby is itching to open his gift."

"Thwarted by the boy again." But there was no malice in his words, and Sarah just rolled her eyes as they got back into her car. A careful spell of disguise weaved through a crystal, a flash of colors, and they left Massachusetts behind.

As expected, Karen had outdone herself. The Victorian was brilliant. Framed with hundreds of golden lights; some, twinkling in and out and reminding Sarah of the dancing lights at Yule. Wreaths on windows and green and silver garlands on the porch banisters. Candles flickering through glass. And in the front bay window: a magnificent Christmas tree.

Boxes and bags were snatched from the trunk. Before Sarah could ring the bell, however, the door opened inwards. "You're late!"

"Merry Christmas to you too, Toby," Sarah laughed. "You can blame Continental Airlines."

A coifed figure quickly appeared behind her brother. "Sarah. Jareth. Come inside; it's freezing!" An unexpected hug from Karen, and then, her stepmother pulled back and studied Sarah's face for a moment. An exuberant grin broke out almost instantly and Sarah flushed. She didn't know how, but it was clear her stepmother _knew_ the relationship had escalated. Sarah could do nothing but smile.

This time, dinner was seamless. Karen had splurged on filets _and_ honey ham with all the traditional holiday fixings. The wine flowed like Yule, though Sarah was careful not to overindulge. And the only harm Jareth wrought was a knowing grin that Sarah struggled to resist kissing all through the feast.

After dinner, under the glow of the Christmas tree lights, Toby had _finally_ opened his chosen gift. She should have known which one he would choose. She also should have remembered Jareth's penchant for gift-giving.

"I want to open Jareth's!"

Sarah pulled her head from her palm, looking quickly at Jareth next to her on the couch. But he just smirked.

"Oh, _neat_. Shin-guards!"

" _What?"_ Sarah choked.

Jareth laughed. "For soccer, of course." But then, by her ear, "or shin-kicking."

Sarah swatted at him but stopped when she saw Toby squint closely at something on the shin-guards. "What's this symbol?"

She turned to Jareth, startled, but he was all teeth again. "Just my signature. Merry Christmas, Toby."

"Thanks!"

"Here, Sarah. This one's for you." Sarah's father grabbed a square box in distinctive silver and passed it to her, and she eyed Jareth again, curious. It was much smaller than the dress box; small enough for a crystal. Or a key. But it was none of those things.

"Oh my God." He really _had_ been watching. Or at least paying a modicum of attention to her interests. There was no other way he would have known. Because it was entirely too fitting that it would be a book. Not _his_ book, of course, but the one she knew second-best: A Midsummer Night's Dream. And, she turned the cover, entirely unsurprised by the small typing indicating that it was a first edition.

She turned. "Thank you. This is incredible."

He just smiled.

* * *

Sometime later, long after Toby had fallen asleep to the waning curses of Kevin McCallister's enemies, Sarah and Jareth had wished Sarah's parents good-night. She didn't hesitate to pull him inside her room where she moved immediately to stare at the vanity mirror. It reflected the two of them, just staring.

"After this afternoon, I was expecting the key again, you know," she offered.

He chuckled lowly. "Were you?"

"Yes," she said, turning back. "Since you're as stubborn as me, of course."

"Of course," he said, smirking. And then, after only a brief hesitation, he twisted his wrist to form a crystal and in another twist, it morphed into a familiar key, still strung through her delicate silver chain. "From the chain, you plainly realized what it was, then?"

She furrowed her brow. "The chain was Didymus' suggestion. So I wouldn't lose it."

He gave her a wan smile and he gestured for her to hold out her hand. Which she did, half-knowing now that it wasn't merely a metaphor, and that not all kingdoms had keys.

Some - like his - had amulets.

"The offer still stands, of course. It always will."

Sarah glanced up from the small, horned amulet. And then, a deep breath and a wry smile as she closed her fist around the piece. "That's good. Because I think I wish to know you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Much, much love to all readers and reviewers! This ballooned into a much longer story than I intended, but it almost wrote itself. I hope you all have a very Merry Christmas, a Happy Holidays, and a healthy 2021.
> 
> \- Rayac

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I am still actively writing To Borrow a Goblin, but this plot just wouldn't let me fully focus on that until I got it down. My little contribution to the LFFL Fall/Winter writing challenge. A story in three parts because I couldn't pick one holiday. And reconciliation isn't quick. But we get there. Let me know what you think. It's plotted, but I'm aiming to align the chapters with the right holiday month.
> 
> A/N2: Plenty of pop culture in this one. Tropes, too. I own nothing you remotely recognize. I do highly recommend the Jekyll & Hyde Broadway musical if you've never listened to the audio - especially if you enjoy Phantom. 'In His Eyes' and 'Dangerous Game' are both hauntingly beautiful.


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